Once upon a time, in the paradoxical haze of existential vacancy— a graduate of the School for Lost Things wrote a paper on not being there. Irony rained from the ceiling like gasoline, and in the cracks of cosmic absurdity, one could dwell.
In a world where doors open by closing them, consider the following advice scrawled between the stars by a nameless satirist: "The best time to dwell was yesterday, the second-best is always tomorrow." Time, it seems, is not a linear path but a rather amusing circular path.
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