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The dressing table sat at the edge of the road like a quiet confession of failure. Scratched legs, swollen drawers, thick yellow paint slapped on without care. A handwritten sign leaned against it: “Free.” No story attached, no sentiment left. Just another piece of unwanted furniture abandoned to weather, time, and indifference. Most people walked past without slowing down. They already knew what they were looking at, or thought they did.
Ross Taylor stopped.
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