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The road of never-ending thoughts came to a fork today. A neon sign hung and sung in an intangible breeze. The thought of crossing these paths, of choosing where to lead the tail was quiet. It only whispered ideas of snow storms and snow cones while the sun shined down. It never had been winter here, never could tell which way was up, so i decided to go there; up. To go where it needn't matter left or right or wrong. To go where it all come this. To here, to now. Forks don't exist i've since realized, only blind spots. Go where the wind blows and where the air feels nice, make it feel right, and you'll be exploring the food as you eat the whole way there.

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