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In the heart of the endless wasteland lay Sad City 42. Its skyline was a jagged silhouette of rusted steel and broken glass, the remnants of once-promising structures that had long since fallen to decay. The streets, coated in a thick layer of grime, whispered with the sound of distant winds howling through the narrow alleys.
The city’s residents moved like ghosts, their faces hollow, eyes sunken. There was no sunlight here—only a dull, gray haze that hung perpetually over the city. Even the air felt heavy, as if it carried the weight of years of lost hope. In Sad City 42, time seemed to stand still, yet every day was more agonizing than the last.
The markets had nothing to offer except for scraps and broken trinkets. Children played with shards of glass, and dogs roamed in packs, their ribs visible under their matted fur. People had long forgotten how to smile, their expressions worn by the constant struggle to survive.
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⢢⡁⠂⠤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀ ⠤⠐⢈⡔⢹
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡀⠙⠆⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠰⠋⢀⡿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡾⠁
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹
⣰⠊⠉⠉⠉⡇⠀⠢⣤⣄⠀⠀ ⣠⣤⠔⠀⢸
⠙⠓⠒⢦⠀⠱⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠎
⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠏⠑⠒⠀⠉⠀⠒⠊⠹
⡎⠉⢹⠀⠙⡶⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢦⠀⠀⡏⠉⢱
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