Mark's heart raced as they approached the donut shop. Its exterior, painted in a cheerful dark pink, sported a massive donut prop above the entrance, as if inviting every passerby to indulge. The sign read "GLAZIES" in bold, playful letters. Diane parked the truck and turned off the ignition, the smell of fresh donuts already wafting through the slightly cracked windows.

As they stepped out, Mark's excitement grew. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until now.

Inside, the shop's vibrant pink walls were lit by neon signs, reflecting off the glass display case framed in indigo. It showcased an array of colorful donuts, from traditional glazed to more eccentric varieties—like bacon maple and cotton candy sprinkles. The sweet, yeasty smell hung heavy in the air, making Mark's mouth water.

Near the counter stood three police officers, all deep in conversation. Each one looked like they could be from a different cop show—there was. a middle-aged black officer with a prominent belly, a balding head that gleamed under the lights, and sideburns merging with his thick mustache. Next to him was, a middle-aged white officer who looked like he was perpetually irritated, with thinning hair and a grumpy expression. And lastly, a brunette with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense vibe, quietly observing the chaos around her.

The black officer, visibly overweight, had a balding head with sideburns joined by a mustache. His eyes were brown, and his remaining hair was black. Upon seeing Diane, he grinned and said, "Looks like we're not the only ones who appreciate good donuts."

Diane chuckled, pushing open the door. "Yeah, well, police officers don't own exclusive rights to loving donuts. Unless you're planning to arrest us for that."

The officers all laughed, sharing in the joke.

The black middle aged man whose name tag read Earl, still grinning, leaned against the counter. "Arrest? Nah, but I might have to if it means getting more of these glazed beauties before you folks wipe 'em out. Some days, I swear they vanish faster than I can order 'em."

The brunette woman smirked. "Or you're the only one who always buys them in bulk, leaving only a piece or two?"

The middle-aged white officer, Harold, joined in. "Yeah, Yumi's right. Stop deceiving yourself and others, Earl. I mean, look at your size, man. You need a wide-load sign every time you walk through the door. One more donut and you'll need traffic cones."

Earl stepped back, squinting at Harold's forehead. "I'd say that's a solid five inches. You should give it a name—maybe 'Mount Baldy.'"

Harold, fuming, made a big show of tightening his belt. "At least my gut doesn't look like a donut display. Step back, Earl, or you'll knock over the counter."

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Earl turned to Harold, a smirk on his face. "Oh, really, Harold? Why don't you fix that nasty personality of yours? It's not just making your wife back away from you; your hairline is running from it too."

Harold's face reddened as he flipped Earl off. "Screw you, dumb truck! Not only is your waistline as wide as a truck, but so is your mouth."

Earl, never one to back down from an insult, shot back, "Yeah, but my hairline did not run off as fast like yours, Vegeta." The Vegeta jab hit Harold right where it hurt, as the joke referenced his receding hairline and its resemblance to the anime character.

Harold clenched his fists, ready to throw a punch, but Earl, too, took a fighting stance.

Yumi quickly stepped in, holding them back. "Come on, guys! Can't you be serious for one minute? We're in a donut shop, not a wrestling ring, and the station is right next door."

Harold huffed. "That damn dump truck started it, you know."

Earl rolled his eyes. "We all know who started this, Hageta," he said, blending Harold's name with the Vegeta joke for maximum sting.

Before Harold could snap again, Yumi raised her voice, cutting them off. "Earl, aren't you supposed to be a chief officer? Act like one! And Harold, can you try being an adult for five minutes?"

The two men, grudgingly, flipped each other off again and muttered, "Okay, Mom," in unison.

Yumi, frustrated, muttered, "Fucking bastards." She took a moment to breathe before looking at Diane and Mark, who were patiently waiting behind them as they held up the line. "Sorry about this, guys. These idiots can be a bit much sometimes."

Diane smiled. "It's okay. I know Uncle Earl's a bit of a loudmouth, Aunt Jackie has confirmed that more than once."

Earl turned around. "Hey! Stop spreading rumors. I'm not a loudmouth!"

Harold snorted again. "Why don't you let the doctors check your mouth? Not only is it telling lies, but it's also stinky!"

Triggered by the insult, Earl shot back, "Really? Coming from a man whose forehead is bigger than his penis?"

Mark, watching the exchange, had to stifle a laugh. The banter between the officers was something straight out of a comedy show, but Earl's vulgar retort caught him off guard. He almost lost it when Earl mentioned Harold's forehead and hairline.

Yumi, who had enough of this nonsense, sighed and turned back to Diane and Mark. "Sorry about the wait, again. Let's get these clowns out of here."

The red-haired woman in line, unable to hold back any longer, said, "Are you guys going to order or compare your dick sizes? For fuck's sake, this is a donut shop, not a dick-sizing competition, and you're already holding up the line!"

Both Harold and Earl blushed at her blunt comment, mumbling quick apologies before finally placing their orders.

Yumi nodded to Diane and Mark, then headed outside with her colleagues, shaking her head the entire time.

Finally, with the officers on their way out, Mark stepped up to the counter. His eyes landed on the shop's curvy, middle-aged cashier. Her red hair was braided down to her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkled warmly, a welcome contrast to the chaotic scene that had just unfolded. She wore a lilac shirt with rolled-up sleeves, burgundy pants, and a short white apron, a name tag pinned neatly to the front: Beth