Mr. Muffin was waiting for customers at his bakery. It had been a long day yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. He hoped he could relax more today.
A bald man with only a beard walked up to Mr. Muffin and asked, "Do you have any muffins here?" "Oh, yes, of course, that’s my name!" Mr. Muffin slowly got up from his creaky wooden chair and looked at the old man. "Look in the case." He pointed at a glass case – a big one that was on the table.
The old man squinted to see through the glass with his old glasses. "My name’s Fritz," he said, "and I don’ approve o’ bagels!" He looked behind himself as if he were going to leave without a muffin. "I wan’ a blueberry muffin," he said.
"Sir, that’s a chocolate chip muffin. Do you want a chocolate chip muffin or not?" asked Mr. Muffin. "Oh, yeah, sure," said the old man. "But I only have four dollars. That enough?"
"Plenty," said Mr. Muffin. The muffin was actually eleven dollars but Mr. Muffin was poor, so he didn’t care.
Eight weeks later
Mr. Muffin now had a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot of money. The past month had been very successful. He had sold millions of goodies, and millions of cakes.
One night Mr. Muffin was taking a walk when he what looked like a cozy apartment to spend the night in. Huddling under his umbrella, Mr. Muffin walked in the door. He walked straight to the manager and asked where he should sleep. "Oh, up there in room 1768," he said. "Nice old ladies up there. Good night now!"
Mr. Muffin went up the stairs on his right and looked around. Ah! There was room 1768! As Mr. Muffin walked closer and closer to the door, he heard singing. When Mr. Muffin walked into the room, he saw a huddle of witches singing a scary song. Mr. Muffin silently closed the door and got out of the apartment.
He went next door to the hotel. It was tedious, but it was much better than having to sleep with witches all night!