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Hot Chocolate

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It was too cool for ice cream, so I decided to head to the local diner for a cup of hot chocolate. I brought my own bag of marshmallows because they never had that big ones that I like. I brought my own can of whipped cream too because they always served half-defrosted cool whip and it just ruined the whole experience. Before I left I threw together some sugar and cocoa powder, much better than that Swiss miss they insisted on using. I also threw a tiny bottle of pure vanilla into my bag as I was heading out the door; a trick I had learnt from Food network to make a cup of hot chocolate extra special. I doubted they added vanilla to the hot chocolate at the diner, if anything extra was added it was grease accidently dripping from their soggy french fries. Halfway down the hall I decided to turn back and grab my favorite mug, there was no telling who had used to cup before me at the diner. The bus is always either too early or too late, so I didn’t bother and walked the mile and a half to the diner. I grabbed a seat by the window, far enough from the bathrooms but not so close that I could see the layer of grime coating the glass. The waitress walked over to my table and I ordered my hot chocolate like I had a million times before; minus the chocolate, whipped cream, or marshmallows and in my own cup. The cold weather that day had caused a pipe to burst, and the restaurant was left without hot water, she informed me.





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