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Last night I went to the Krispy Kreme donuts place, the one where you can watch the donuts being made as you eat. Mum and Dad took Jeffrey and me there once when we were little, and I remember being awestruck at the donut machine, watching the donuts rise and fall as the yeast rose, watching the donuts cook and flip over so the other side could cook, watching the donuts ride along the conveyor belt on the way to the glazer, watching the donuts earn their glaze. If they were lucky, and if the place was busy, they would get picked up immediately, and some customer would be extremely happy.

Last night was another night of fascination as I watched the process again. Mum told me about the times she made Jeffrey and me donuts out of biscuits; unfortunately I don't remember these experiences. Are there so many more experiences that I don't remember? My extremely limited memory makes me sad, but if I remembered everything, would I dwell in those memories instead of making new ones? That remains an unanswered question.

I go back to Agnes on Tuesday. Another page turned over in life, another story to be written. And I'm there to write it.

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