Staring at an untouched cup, steam curling upwards, she realized mornings were quieter without the usual rush, a rare pause amidst the usual chaos of her bustling life.
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Staring at forgotten socks under the couch, I ponder the mystery of their disappearance. Meanwhile, the toaster ejects my breakfast like a determined catapult.
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Green socks peek from worn sneakers, mismatched yet intentional. A pigeon hops, pausing near melting ice cream—an audience for melting afternoons. City sounds blend, an urban lullaby.
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