train, only to watch its taillights disappear around the bend. Just the other day, this was me, frantically sprinting through Grand Central Station, convinced I was about to star in my own personal tragedy titled “Late for Life.”
As I dramatically collapsed onto a bench, catching my breath and cursing my luck, I realized something crucial: I was starving. I mean, ravenously, hangry-to-the-point-of-no-return starving. My original plan of grabbing a stale croissant on the train suddenly seemed like a cruel joke.
A Chance Encounter with a Delicious Chocolate Croissant
Resigned to my fate, I wandered out of the station and stumbled upon a charming little bakery. The smell wafting from its open door was like a siren song to my grumbling stomach.
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