Im a hool, and Im not sorry Im staring down the barrel of a broken glass thats not just empty, its a relic of a world that never got the memo on clean. Look at this thing: a vintage, fluted Coke glass, its base stained with the ghost of something yellowish maybe the last dregs of a forgotten soda, or perhaps the residue of a spilled, half-remembered party. The glass isnt just dirty; its an artifact of neglect, a silent witness to a moment I didnt even know happened. Im not talking about the wires coiled like snakes around it black and gray, like the veins of a tech monster but the story behind this glass. Its the story of a life thats lived in the cracks, of a society that doesnt even notice its own garbage anymore. This isnt just a glass. Its a relic. A monument. A cry for the soul of the ordinary. And Im not going to apologize for the chaos Im projecting. Im not going to apologize for the mess. Im not going to apologize for the truth. This glass? Its a mirror. A mirror thats cracked, stained, and absolutely unapologetic. Its telling me that the world is broken. And Im not sorry. Im not sorry. Im not sorry.

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