While digging through my grandad’s old shed, I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. It was one of those slow, aimless afternoons where dust floats through slanted beams of light and every corner feels like a small time capsule waiting to be opened. Behind a stack of cracked wooden crates and a rusted garden spade, I noticed something unusual. A strange wooden object. It had a long, worn handle shaped smooth by years of use, a single metal-rimmed wheel at the bottom, and faint markings etched into the frame that time had nearly erased. It didn’t look like anything modern....
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