Picture a long, deserted open road stretching out into the distance, devoid of any cars or signs of life. The asphalt bears the weathered marks of time, with cracks scattered here and there, indicating the passage of years and the elements taking their toll. The road seems to extend endlessly, disappearing into a hazy horizon. In the foreground, you find a solitary cigarette butt, lying on the pavement. It stands out as a small, tangible piece of evidence that someone, at some point, passed through this desolate stretch. The discarded cigarette adds a touch of human presence, juxtaposed against the vast and empty expanse of the road leading to nowhere. It tells a silent story of transience and the fleeting nature of moments on this seemingly endless journey.
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