Staring at my phone, I noticed the charging cable frayed like an old sweater, hinting at countless late-night scrolls. Time for a replacement—perhaps wireless this time.
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Beneath the flickering neon sign, a lone saxophonist mesmerizes bustling pedestrians, while distant aromas of freshly baked bread waft through the crisp, autumn evening air.
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Beneath neon signs, commuters clutch coffee cups, dodging puddles reflecting skyscrapers. Office buildings whisper untold tales while bicycles hum past, weaving through bustling streets.
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