underneath my polished facade, i've been quietly accumulating an arsenal of unsold biscuits in a tiny singaporean pantry since the world was still trying to figure out how to wear sneakers with socks
in a dimly lit café, where only the strong survive, a lone patron sips on black coffee, their eyes fixed on an invisible ledger, calculating the odds of trust in a world that's always trying to read between the lines
In the city that never sleeps, secrets are bought and sold with a single nod Some hands hold more weight than others – a true treasure is in the invisible accumulation
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