God said no

I thought I would do an evil thing and continue my Weekend of Misbehavior by heading out to the nearest branch of Krispy Kreme to get myself some dingle-damn doughnuts. I had just picked up my new batch of meds and some lunch near my apartment building, so I grabbed a cab and headed to the Krispy Kreme branch that sits close to where I work, one or two districts over. I asked the cabbie to let me off at the proper intersection; I got out, crossed the street, and lumbered over to Krispy Kreme...

...except there was no Krispy Kreme. The real estate had been stripped bare, and all that's now left are some "for lease" signs. I was looking at a sad, empty space where a bustling, happy doughnuterie had been.

I stood there in frank shock for a few minutes. This branch of Krispy Kreme had appeared some years back, and I guess I just assumed it was popular enough to have indefinite staying power. How wrong I was, and my assumption made—per the folk proverb—an Ass of You and Me. Or just of me, really. You weren't there.

The last time I'd felt this sucker-punched was when the local high-end buffet D'Maris shut down some years ago. I loved that place despite the expense of eating there. Lunch came with a two-hour time limit to ensure turnover, but for me, two hours was plenty of time. And then one day, the place just went under, another victim of life's impermanence.

Imagine being so fixated on doughnuts that it never even occurs to you that your doughnut dealer might not be there. This was an existential crisis, the equivalent of God pulling an ethereal rug out from under my soul. I ran through my mental Rolodex of dessert alternatives, and nothing was coming up. Crestfallen, I caught another cab and headed back to my place. The Good Lord had heard my prayers for doughnuts, and he'd said no.