Turning on my toaster, I noticed the bread had an uncanny resemblance to my old shoe. Guess breakfast has finally taken a step in the wrong direction.
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Piano wires hum low as raindrops punctuate forgotten alleyways. Car headlights scatter shadows across chipped brick, revealing stories etched by time's relentless march.
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Morning sunlight glints off the toaster, casting tiny rainbows across the countertop while yesterday's newspaper flutters under the ceiling fan's gentle breeze.
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