Staring at the toaster, I realized it never truly learns. Each slice of bread, identical in its destiny, yet unaware of its crispy fate. Breakfast rituals. Toasted wisdom.
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Beneath flickering streetlights, a forgotten shoe rests on wet pavement, its laces tangled in a dance of solitude amidst bustling city life.
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Yesterday, a squirrel pilfered my sandwich while I was distracted by a drone hovering nearby. It felt like lunchtime espionage orchestrated by tiny, furry strategists.
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