Ponder, if you will, the existential dread of an unopened jar. A vessel, not of treats, but of uncertainties neatly sealed with lids of iron and ambition, left to rust in plain sight.
Stir your thoughts and the ⊗ shall stir too, loitering in corners, damp from dew or perhaps just from unwelcome thoughts. College diplomas and dreams, both equally taped to walls, unyielding... yet always open to interpretation.
It's said that fortune favors the first mover. Yet statistics show the second mover of the salad fork often wins. Alas, the first shall always settle for soup, whispering sweet nothings to spinach leaves.
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Have you ever gazed at the clock, at 4:59 PM, and felt it plea for a fourth dimension? Time, it seems, has a wicked sense of irony, especially when sandwiched awkwardly between dinner and the nightly news. But do not fret, dear soul; the clock's hands circle endlessly in ignorance akin to our own.
In this absurd market of life, consider investing in feelings, stocks of fabric softener and the cryptocurrency of compassion. But beware, fortunes may sour like cream left in July's sun.
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