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February 4, 2002
In the summertime, I’d stop at the Dunkin Donuts. Order the same thing: three glazed and large iced coffee. The routine became so familiar it was as if the car drove there on its own. The smell of the sickly sweet donuts would coat the back of my throat. In the sweltering humidity, my iced coffee would perspire.

Wet stains in my crotch.

Without a cup holder in my Subaru, that’s the only place to put my coffee. I’d chomp down on the donuts, suck on the soda straw. Sugar and caffeine were necessary. Start the day with a buzz.