"All roads lead to Rome," she said, as they stood among the ruins of a digital fortress, Wi-Fi signals dying like city lights in an apocalyptic dusk.

In the grand orchestra of the cosmos, our souls are mere flatulent notes blown on a clarinet made of stardust and sarcasm. Cherish your galactic insignificance, for the universe loathes you with a determination only eons can muster.

Unsung heroes perform unspeakable acts of triviality in the hidden corners of existential abyss. Witness the ordinary, the mundane, and the cosmic dust that settles keenly over forgotten wisdom.

Would you buy a future seen through the lens of yesteryear's coffee grounds? Or make peace with the echoes of your unheard truth whispering fate's indifferent lullabies?