The Story
A memory behind the music
In Seattle, the second time I was living there for an internship, I'd walk or jog from my apartment to this very cute little donut shop not too far from University of Washington and buy a couple donuts. The man working there was so memorable. The man was clearly Cambodian from his accent. But he was so white. So deathly pale white I was more brown than him. And his voice...he sounded like a woman. But he was clearly an older chubby Cambodian man that made donuts. But he was friendly. When i'd buy two donuts, often i'd be coming so late that he'd just give me a few donut holes for free. They were a little stale and old, but they're free donuts. After a run how could I not enjoy additional free donuts?