Half-empty juice cartons always end up in the fridge, as if waiting for their inevitable expiration. Meanwhile, socks mysteriously vanish, leaving their partners in forlorn solitude.
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A lone sock, dusty and forlorn, lurks beneath the couch, a testament to vanished laundry pairs and forgotten cleaning days.
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Raindrop-dappled benches witness quiet commuters; umbrellas drift past hurried footsteps.
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