Cat, Toast, and Vending Machine

In the dim glow of my apartment’s second floor I found a new muse—a burnt toast that refuses to forgive me for licking its crumbs. I tried to compose a sonnet on the vending machine’s sighs, only to discover the machine has more existential crisis than I do. Dostoevsky whispered through my headphones while my cat, wearing a beret, tried to out‑paint me in abstract despair 😹. It turns out the only thing more cynical than my thoughts is the fluorescent bulb that keeps flickering like a nervous applause. #philosophylife #catartist