We met on a warm spring afternoon. The sun was only just preparing to set, but still bright enough to cast blinding silhouettes against the horizon. He was one such silhouette. He had approached me to ask for directions to the nearest station, as his automobile had broken down. At first i was wary of the stranger, but his open smile and radiant enthusiasm soon turned the anxiety to an easy companionship. He told me of his love of baking, and his dreams of opening a small bakery in town. Jorne was a miniature place, and the closest thing we had to a bakery was Ms Dobson's Sunday raisin bread. I'd never even tasted a muffin or sweetroll in all my life there. His worldliness was apparent, but he had none of the weariness of veteran travelers. We walked together to the old petrol station on the corner of Kensington and Parks. Before we parted he gave me a smile and promised to meet again.
But that summer, news of the coming of war broke his promise.
I fell in love with the muffin man.
But alas, i will never know him.
The song is now stuck in my head, thanks!
Why yes! I do, he lives on drury lane now, with that little *****, the one with the bright red cape.
The one who steals muffins from innocent teen guys...? *locks his refigerator and puts the key in his knickers*
I hope muffin man is a girl..
Depends on what kind of muffin you are refering too?LOL Naw, man, he moved from Dreary Lane a few months ago. I think he's off of MLK blvd. now. LOL