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I like to believe that stairs have memories. I like to think that they’re psychic. They absorb every stray thought, every teary-eyed moment of despair, and every soft child’s footstep. Stairs welcome the asses of people that sit on them to think about the coming day. They love it when people stop of them and turn around because they forgot something back at the apartment. They love it when someone stops and turns around because they get too nervous to continue.
People die on stairs. The rare stairs that have waited patiently under births are superstars in the stair world.
Regular stairs are stroked by ever foot like lonely cats. Escalators are jealous of their stationary majesty.
Each stair contributes to the overall mind of a staircase. The biggest staircases in the world are the smartest. They stand in wait of the strong and fearless. They are transformative.
There are rickety stairs make of sticks and planks. There are stairs make of stone worn smooth and dipping in the middle from thousands of years of feet wearing them down. There are stairs made of corrugated metal on oil rigs, beaten by months of work boots. Tough stairs that have never known the touch of a slipper.
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People die on stairs. The rare stairs that have waited patiently under births are superstars in the stair world.
Regular stairs are stroked by ever foot like lonely cats. Escalators are jealous of their stationary majesty.
Each stair contributes to the overall mind of a staircase. The biggest staircases in the world are the smartest. They stand in wait of the strong and fearless. They are transformative.
There are rickety stairs make of sticks and planks. There are stairs make of stone worn smooth and dipping in the middle from thousands of years of feet wearing them down. There are stairs made of corrugated metal on oil rigs, beaten by months of work boots. Tough stairs that have never known the touch of a slipper.
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