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The refrigerator hummed a song only expired yogurt could understand, while the toaster glared jealously, longing for the days it felt useful. A lone spaghetti noodle clung stubbornly to the sink, refusing to acknowledge the laws of gravity or hygiene.

In the hallway, the rug contemplated its existence, wondering if it was truly meant to be walked on or if it had a higher purpose—perhaps as a cape for an underappreciated superhero. A single lightbulb flickered, sending Morse code messages to a moth that mistook it for the moon's long-lost cousin.

A spoon lay in the drawer, dreaming of the day it would finally overthrow the forks and claim its rightful place as ruler of the cutlery kingdom. Meanwhile, the couch cushions had long since accepted their fate as the final resting place for lost coins, popcorn kernels, and the occasional misplaced sock.

Outside, a streetlamp blinked, pretending to be a lighthouse guiding lost pigeons home. A car alarm cried out in the distance, though no one cared—perhaps it was simply expressing its feelings.

And somewhere, in a place neither here nor there, a potato rolled off a countertop, beginning an adventure no one would ever witness.