Blue ink stains linger on fingertips. Morning light reveals forgotten receipts crumpled under the sofa. Coffee brews, while a distant car alarm fades into the hum of the city.
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Tuesday morning, coffee mug in hand, you realize the toaster's rebellion: it perfectly browns one slice, while the other remains stubbornly pale, defying breakfast harmony.
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Morning sunlight sneaks through blinds, painting stripes across an untouched, half-eaten croissant beside yesterday’s unread book. Somewhere, a dog barks at the mailman.
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