The detective hovers over an open pink box of donuts. He pokes at the one marinating in powdered sugar, shakes his head.
“Man, the Donut Ace has really gone downhill. Ever since they replaced their homemade custard with this second-rate marshmallow filling crap. Cheap fucks.”
“I dunno. Still pretty tasty to me,” his partner mumbles through a mouthful of blueberry crumb.
“And I did not speak out because I could not appreciate the Bavarian Crème…”
Just then, an officer pops his head in the station kitchen. “Meeting, conference room, five minutes. All hands on deck.”
“What? Why?”
“Shit’s flowing downhill…”
The Weekday One Hundred 