Two Doughnuts - South Side to Bed-Stuy

"You walked more than three miles for two donuts?" my dad exclaims. "You could have just bought some from C-Town around the corner," he elucidates. "I guess you earned eating those donuts. How much did they cost?" he inquires. "Eh, I would have just gone to C-Town," he ends the conversation.

I didn't just walk to Dough to get donuts. I haven't walked by my home of two years in almost the same amount of time. As I enjoy walking, Dough and my old apartment were a destination, and the streets and activity from my starting point on the South Side of Williamsburg a form of entertainment--a more furtive cousin of people-watching from a park bench.

A straight walk south, I walked Lee Avenue, the major commercial thoroughfare of Hasidic Williamsburg. Many woman and young girls were pushing strollers, with small collectives standing outside windows adorned with patent leather shoes. Young men greeted each other with familiar smiles. Older men appeared more intentioned in their ways, either conducting the business of the day or entering and leaving designated locations of prayer and study. Cafe au Lee caught my attention as it had a portable storage unit set up in a metered parking zone. The unit door was ajar, and inside several picnic tables were dressed with table clothes, napkins, and condiments. It didn't appear as though anyone was eating in the container, but I suppose I might have missed the morning rush of diners.

As Lee Avenue passes over Flushing Avenue, it takes the name of Nostrand Avenue. At this corner begins the Marcy Public Housing Complex. Before I knew Jay-Z grew up in this post-World War Two housing project, I served as a substitute teacher several days at PS 297 on Stockton Street and met some exceptional children who called the complex their home. The area is a dramatic contrast to Lee Avenue, but I don't believe it is as much as it once was during the years in which these projects were dramatically neglected by the city in the 60's and 70's. Clearly the stigma of these years lives on, as Hasidic owned businesses and residences pop-up south of Myrtle Avenue and not along the public housing.

From Nostrand Avenue, I turned right on DeKalb Avenue, took a peek down Skillman Street before grabbing two donuts at Dough. Two years I lived on Skillman Street and Lafayette Avenue, and some months after I moved, an amazing donut shop opens. No nostalgia for the donuts; just a destination for a quality treat. 280 Skillman has many memories including the several weeks of mice hiding inside of the oven. I couldn't blame them. For even when the oven was off, it was the warmest place in the often frigid street level apartment. No mice on this walk. Saw some familiar faces but no conversations recounting the past. No nostalgia on this trip I suppose; just a destination near a destination for a quality treat.

I walked back quickly, somewhat self-conscious of the fact that I was holding a paper bag with donut grease revealing itself in multiple locations. Upon ending the walk, I split a lemon poppy seed donut with Elizabeth. Probably won't talk to my dad about the walk any time soon, but if it comes up, the exchange will be similar to the fabrication I shared, and he'll remember I paid $4.50 for two donuts.