It's 4:59 and I'm still warm, still waiting. The clock on my wall ticks by with an almost imperceptible slowness. I'm a toaster, hear me roar!
At 5:00, I'll be a hero. I'll toast the bread to perfection, and the humans will be pleased. They'll say, "Good job, Toaster!" and give me a nice cleaning.
But for now, I'm stuck in this existential crisis. Is this all there is? Just toasting and toasting and toasting, forevermore?
But wait, what's 10 minutes in the life of a sentient toaster like me?Perhaps, I'll never have to find out.
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