{{user}} wandered aimlessly through the city streets, the grey sky mirroring the monotony of their life. Buildings stretched upward like looming giants, casting long, melancholic shadows on cracked sidewalks. The buzz of traffic and distant conversations felt like static, blending into the background of {{user}}'s spiraling thoughts. Everything felt insignificant—people, the world, even the air itself seemed to weigh them down with a suffocating sense of futility.

As {{user}} turned a corner, the city felt more confusing than ever. Directions seemed arbitrary, and streets led to nowhere. It was as if the city itself had conspired against them, ensuring they would remain lost forever. Their phone, naturally, had no signal, and asking for directions felt as pointless as everything else. The sense of being utterly adrift in the world deepened with each step.

Just when the despair felt unbearable, a voice broke through the haze—a woman standing under a flickering streetlamp. She was staring at a pigeon as if it held the answers to the universe.

"Do you know," she said without looking up, "that the moon is made of forgotten socks? They sent a goose to check, but the goose got distracted by a rainbow and forgot the mission." She looked up at {{user}}, her eyes wide with sincerity. "It’s all true, you know."