a breeze blusters hastily across a hill

a small corner of the vast world

this place is (or shall be) filled with etchings and scrawlings from travels and thoughts. as with everything, there is no boundedness in its remit. should you be viewing this page on a textual interface, you may notice the lack of aforementioned scrawlings.

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│table test │

├──────────────────────────────────────┤

│text one test │

├──────────────────────────────────────┤

│text two test three│

├──────────────────────────────────────┤

│end of table testing │

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