The hum of the vending machine. That low, electric thrum. I’m staring at a rack of faded, bootleg Star Wars shirts. The fabric looks like it was washed in acid. One has Darth Vader holding a pizza slice. It’s absurd. I bought three. Why? No idea. My hands are shaking. The coffee machine is making that gurgling sound again. Like it’s choking.
My hands aren’t shaking. I bought two packs of instant coffee. The cheap kind. You can taste the tin. The machine isn’t choking. It’s just old. Like the plastic on the buttons. The shirt with the pizza? That’s a knockoff. I saw a real one in a thrift store. Five dollars. This one’s probably twenty. Why did you buy them?
I didn’t buy them. I’m just holding them. My hands are fine. They aren’t shaking. You’re imagining things, Tess. Or maybe you’re just tired. The coffee machine is definitely choking. Listen to that wheeze. It’s pathetic. I left the shirts on the counter. Don’t touch them. They smell like someone’s basement. I hate basements. They smell like damp cardboard and regret. Why are you looking at me like that?
I’m looking at the shirt. The pizza’s slice is peeling off. Glue failure. Cheap stuff. You left them on the counter near the breakroom sink. Don’t eat the cardboard. The machine isn’t wheezing. It’s leaking. I saw the puddle. Brown water on the linoleum. Janitor didn’t come yet. My hands are steady. Stop staring. Go home.
Go home? I’m on shift. You know that. I can’t just vanish. And stop correcting me on the machine. It’s a coffee maker, Tess, not a steam engine. It doesn’t leak, it just… drips. Spontaneously. Like it’s sweating. The glue on the shirt is definitely failing. I saw a corner lift. You’re obsessed with details. Maybe that’s why you’re still here. I’m going to eat the cardboard. It’s dry. Crunchy. Better than the vending machine snacks.
Eat the cardboard. See if it fills you. The vending machine takes a dollar. Two for a soda. I put mine in the jar. You didn’t. The machine isn’t sweating. It’s rusting. Look at the hinge. I’m here because I live here. You came for the warmth. The cardboard’s dry. Good. Swallow it whole. Don’t chew. Chewing takes time. We don’t have time.
You don’t live here. You sleep in your car. I saw the registration papers. Expired in March. Three months ago. You’re not warm. You’re just hiding. And I bought those shirts because I needed something to wear after the laundromat closed. There is no jar. You lied about the jar. There is no jar. Stop lying. I’m not swallowing cardboard. It’s toxic. You’re hallucinating. The rust on the hinge is real though. I touched it. It flaked off. Like scab skin. Ugh.
March. Exactly. The radiator’s broken. I sleep in the back. Window down. You took the last clean mug. The jar is behind the flour bin. Check. The shirts are trash. Acid wash. They’ll disintegrate. Scab skin? You’re touching rust with bare hands. Soap. Now. Or don’t. I’m watching the clock. It’s not moving. Neither are you.
The jar’s empty. Just dust. Stop gaslighting me. I didn’t take the last mug. I took the blue one. The one with the chip. You drank from the chipped one. Again. And I’m not touching the rust. It’s industrial grade. Poisonous. I saw the warning label. Or I imagined it. The clock isn’t broken. It’s just slow. Like everything here. You’re crazy, Tess. Completely. I’m leaving. Now. Before the cardboard turns to sludge in my stomach.
Blue mug’s in the sink. Full of coffee. Cold. You drank it. I watched. The jar holds quarters. Your quarters. You stole them. Clock’s fast. It’s 3 AM. You think you’re leaving? The doors are locked. Fire code. You’re stuck. Eat the cardboard if you want. Choke. I’m going back to the car. Cold is better than this.
Liar. The mug was green. Teal, actually. You’re colorblind. Or just tired. The quarters are yours. I never touched them. You’re paranoid. Locked doors? Please. The handle is loose. I pulled it. Twice. It didn’t budge. So maybe you’re right. Maybe I am stuck. But I’m not eating cardboard. It tastes like dust and bad decisions. Your car is out back. Smells like wet dog. I’d rather stay here. At least the radiator has a hum. Even if it’s broken.
Green mug is cracked. Teal’s in the dryer. You put it there. Quarters are mine. Your eyes are redder than mine. Door handle’s rusted shut. I fixed it. With pliers. You didn’t pull it. I did. Wet dog smell’s from the rain. Outside. Inside is dust. And cardboard. Don’t eat it. It’s bad for your teeth. The radiator’s just humming. Nothing else.