We hang at Doughboy so often, if feels like we’ve already done a PYCH on the place. But no, here it is. For those who might not be in the know, let me blow your mind with the story of an epic chillzone with just about everything you could hope for in a donut joint. Doughboy’s open 24 damn hours a day, the folks who work there are sweethearts, the food is top holler, the art they’ve got up is bar-none, and did we mention they’re open 24/7?

It’s a pretty typical “what, where, who” trifecta that solidifies Doughboy as a place you could hang. Q: What? A: Their donuts are hand-made on the premises in a wide range of styles, and even if they weren’t amazing (which they are) donuts and no-frills coffee is just a winning combination for any hour. Q: Where? A: Southie, a little splotch of Dot. Ave between Broadway and Andrew Square. You can allllllmost smell the ocean in the air, but it’s competing with T exhaust, which brings us to the Q: Who? A: Well, the handsome staff aren’t the only ones keeping this hive humming all night.

The majority of patrons (at least when I’m there) are those unsung heroes of society, who come and go at unspeakable hours and do the difficult tasks that allow our city to run smoothly. They’re the garbage men, EMTs, railroad mechanics, cabbies, newspaper men, cops, T and construction workers, city employees, electricians, tow truck, big rig, and livery drivers. And then there’s us: the nocturnal artist freaks. Doughboy, man—where else can you find The Compass, see disturbing portraits of New England sports stars, and vie for the chance to tangle with a Fruity Pebbles donut? I know you dude, you could definitely hang here. –Sam Potrykus