I'm pretty sure I didn't dream that I had the Tropical Muffin, but ever since, all they've ever had at the cafe is double-chocolate-chip.
Compared to tropical, double-choc-chip is like old cardboard. I know, right - and I love a double-choc-chip muffin (especially when the distribution of chips is evenly spread)! That just goes to show how out-of-this-world the Tropical Muffin actually was. How succulent, how delicious, how gloriously sweet and fruity, how heaven bound had it been?
Shuko and I made the regular trip this afternoon to the cafe.
"What muffins do you have?" I asked the lady.
"Chocolate," said she. I made a face and then she wrapped one up for me anyway.
I'm a little nervous about asking, "When are the Tropical Muffins coming back?" What if really was all a dream? What if they look at me blankly as though I'd asked for moonsparkle toast, or unicorn butter? Tropical fruit? In a muffin? Really? Really Matt?
As if to rub it in, it was at that point that the clouds swelled grey overhead and the windows of the cafe were suddenly specked with drizzle.
"We'd better run," I said. Shuko agreed and clutching a diet coke, the double-choc-chip muffin, and an iced-latte, we hurried between the trees on our way back to the lake towards the office.
It chucked it down. Before long we were stopped under a tree, watching the rain sweep across the grass and the fountains, in great streams that pelted the wooden footbridge and splashed off the shiny concrete paths.
"Last day of summer, eh," I said, reflecting. It really felt like it. Shuddering under a tree while the cold rain fell through the autumn leaves, I wondered whether the days of the Tropical Muffin might just be over. If ever they were real in the first place, that is.
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