YES2Crypto π© πͺπ‘
@yes2crypto.eth
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The room smelled of cedar and regret.
@horsefacts.eth sat alone at the counter of The Far Andaway Diner, his coffee as black as the ink of his nightmare. Still shaking from the dream of a galloping horse, its mane dripping ink that spelled out YO with each whip of its tail.
The horse turned to him, eyes like twin black holes, and whispered, "The ink writes success, but the cost is your soul."
He awoke drenched in sweat, the dream seared into his mind. By morning, his decision was made. Cast, as it were.
The YO framesβ endless notifications had haunted him since they started. They spelt the success he knew couldβve been his. But he knew that frame felt like it was built on a foundation of somethingβ¦ wrong. Something backwards. Somethingβ¦ ink-soaked.
As he drafted his resignation, the notifications chimed one last time: βYou couldβve stayed.β He smiled faintly, closed the dashboard, and walked into the fog, leaving the world of YO and its infinite ink behind.
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