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No Wife, No Horse, No Moustache

Bob was a lonely bastard. He had no friends, no family and a low-paying, unrewarding job. His day always followed the same routine. Get up, go to work, come home, watch t.v., go to sleep. Day after day after day after day. . . Bob was lonely. Bob was bored. Bob needed a little salt shaken on the ugly, open-wound that was his life.
One day it was there. That touch of excitement needed to rip Bob out of the trap of boring monotony. It had come. It had come in the shape of a donut.
At first glance the donut was like any other. Round and small, with strange pink frosting and a hole in the middle. It sat in its box, looking sad and a little lonely in that box all by itself. Bob picked it up and along with the bitter, dark liquid the company tried to pass off as coffee he took it to this desk.
Perhaps sensing that this donut was something special, something beyond that of an ordinary donut, Bob put off eating it right away. Instead he sat it down on a little napkin and resumed the drudgery of his daily work. He sipped his coffee, he typed into his computer, its amber screen slowly sucking his life, every now and then he would glance at the donut. . .
Strange and mysterious, the donut slowly worked its way into Bob's mind. Every time his eyes wondered and fell upon the donut his thoughts were disrupted. All he could do was sit and stare blankly at its smooth, pink surface. Eventually, it became harder and harder for Bob to tear his eyes away. Eventually, all he could think about was the donut.
. . .unfinished fragment. . .