BUXOM ROSE ANN YONKERS BRUSHES off the counter at her Hi-Boy Donut Shop and says, "Sure, we have homemade soup . . ." (The sign is right there over her head: Homemade Soup $1.25.) "But I didn't make it today. Too hot for soup."

Donuts, yes. There is a wallful of them: chocolate, cinnamon, blueberry, jelly, cherry, powdered, butter cream, raisin, whole wheat. And honey sticks, lemon tarts, long johns, assorted twists and something called a giant honey bun that looks like a spiral nebula nine inches in diameter, but stickier.

The tiny shop is located between a florist and a carryout, three steps down from the sidewalk at 806 F St. NW. Halfway back is a row of video games where you can fight a private war with the Russians.

A tall, elegant, sixtyish man in a three-piece suit, dark-skinned with tightly curled white hair, surely a top executive somewhere, is deeply absorbed in combat. Deftly, confidently, he pushes buttons and slams levers with such verve that he is dancing, feet kicking this way and that as he zaps the invaders.

Nobody pays any attention. He doesn't look around for it, either, but watches intently as the enemy ships explode and the score mounts and the final victory nears. Sometimes he jumps clear off the floor. The machine is dinging and buzzing and beeping for its very survival.

Then it is over. He's not even breathing hard, but a patch of sweat shows between his shoulder blades. He pats the defeated machine, turns to a young counter girl with a crisp nod.

"Bye," she calls. "Bye," he says, and waves without turning back.

He comes in every day, the counter girl confides.