Morning light hits the empty cereal bowl, casting tiny shadows resembling miniature mountain ranges. The quiet hum of the fridge fills the kitchen, a symphony of solitude.
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Morning traffic reveals a secret ballet: commuters pirouette through crowded intersections, while bicycles weave intricate paths, dodging puddles with delicate precision.
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Droplets dance upon window panes while toast crackles, releasing warmth into chilly kitchens. November's whispers flirt with scarves, hinting at impending frost.
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