DIARY OF AN URBAN BOGMAN. Day 6. The Cronut Experience, or, Getting on with the Mundane

I’m eating this thing, it’s like an illegitimate lovechild of a croissant and a donut, and it’s just the most confusing experience I’ve had in a long time. I think I’m enjoying it, but there’s a part of me that just wants to know where I stand with this thing, where did it come from, how long is it going to stick around, does it have any hot cousins?

I drank a little too much last night. There was an art thing, and I was just being handed glasses of wine every couple of minutes, talking to all these suits, pretending to know art. It’s quite likely I made a fool of myself, since I don’t know art, and to be honest I don’t remember seeing any of it at the “art thing”, anyway. The wine was good though. Maybe it was more of a “wine thing”, then.

So I wake up this morning, thinking I’m fine, but after just a few minutes of blissful ignorance, I realise that the unbearable repetitive pounding is not a raunchy neighbour or road works, but is actually quite acutely located inside my head. Having little or no experience in overcoming this obstacle beyond continuing drinking (something to do with a hairy dog, colloquially, from what I understand), I sought advice from the first person I met out in the busy streets.

“I DRANK TOO MUCH AND MY HEAD HURTS AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO SIR PLEASE HELP ME” emerged unwittingly from my mouth as I clutched at the shirt sleeve of this innocent passer–by.

“Get a coffee and a muffin into ya and fuck off away from me, mate!” He snatched his arm back and hurried off glancing back every now and then, probably worried I might follow him with further enquiries of how to get on with the mundane.

So I stumble into the first place looking like it might hold the promise of coffee, and ask for one of the same. My mention of the possibility of a muffin, as per my advisor’s suggestion, was met with something of a snarl along the lines of “Muffin nah we don’t do them here buddy there’s a cronut if you like with sprinkles on top” which was followed, upon noticing my look of complete confusion, by an elaborate explanation of what a “cronut” is, complete with (I shit you not) an actual diagram drawn in chalk on a big black board, as if it were some sort of wacky physics equation that took many years to concoct.

Feeling like my options were quite limited, I agreed to an almond covered cronut and now I’m eating this thing, it’s like an illegitimate lovechild of a croissant and a donut, and it’s just the most confusing experience…