Staring at the toaster, I realized it’s a tiny, fiery cave for bread slices, transforming dough into crispy memories, while the kettle whistles secrets of boiling anticipation.
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Morning coffee tasted like burnt toast, yet the cat stared at the ceiling fan as if it were plotting a coup. Such is life’s odd simplicity.
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Coffee rings mark the desk; forgotten mugs tell stories. Silent laptops hum, whispering secrets of work, dreams, and deadlines, as sunlight creeps through dusty blinds.
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