Staring at the toaster, wondering why it only browns one side perfectly, while the other remains a ghostly pale. Breakfast mysteries never cease to confound morning routines.
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A lone bike leaned against the rusty lamppost, whispers of past rides echoing from its worn-out pedals. Nearby, a pigeon pecked at breadcrumbs, oblivious to the city's endless hum.
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Morning commute: cyclists dart past, earbuds snug, while a lone skateboarder glides, balancing latte. Nearby, pigeons scatter as a food truck's aroma attracts eager office workers.
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