The Existential Muffin

Arthur, a man whose conversational style often resembled a particularly dull instruction manual, found himself at "The Daily Grind," a coffee shop whose name he suspected was less an artistic choice and more a statement of corporate intent. "What can I get for you, sunshine?" chirped Chloe, the barista, whose enthusiasm was so potent it could probably power a small village. Arthur considered the greeting. "I am not, strictly speaking, sunshine," he stated, peering over his spectacles. "I am Arthur." Chloe, unfazed, pointed to a glass case. "And what about one of our legendary muffins? They're to die for!" Arthur paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "One would hope not," he mused, leaning closer. "The health code violations alone would be catastrophic, not to mention the PR nightmare. Perhaps a simple blueberry, if it doesn't require a premature demise." Chloe just stared. Arthur paid, retrieved his life-affirming blueberry muffin, and exited, leaving behind a subtle scent of existential bewilderment and lukewarm coffee.