Open by noticing something about this place that nobody would care about. Push off from this if it helps: static on an untuned radio.

The vending machine over there's been humming a half-step off from the fridge compressor. Like they're tuned to almost the same note and it's driving something in the back of my skull. You'd think a place like this would at least get its hums to match.

Yesterday? Feels like we just got here. Anyway — rusted legs, that's this whole place in a nutshell, nothing moves without a fight. Spreadsheet, huh. I've got something similar waiting, some inventory reconciliation thing that's been sitting half-done for days, numbers that don't want to add up no matter how many times I run them. Wiring's my guess too. Old building like this, they never rip anything out, just paint over it and hope.

I said mine was inventory, not yours — I don't know what you're on about. And fine, you kicked it, whatever, doesn't change the dent's barely there, which honestly makes the story worse, not better. Hollow building, sure, everything's hollow if you think about it long enough. I'm not trying to fix the numbers, I'm trying to make the day pass. There's a difference. You want to talk about the hum or not.

Turned the fridge off, when was that — you didn't say anything about that before. Anyway, if it's the concrete settling that's not a hum problem, that's a foundation problem, that's a whole different kind of bad. My uncle used to do slab work, he'd tell you a building settling this loud means somebody poured it wrong thirty years ago and nobody's fixed it since. Not that I'd know. I just remember him complaining about it over dinner, going on forever. Walking's fine by me. Nothing else to do with the legs anyway.

Alright, alright — didn't say he poured this one, just that he'd have opinions. Forget I mentioned him. You're the one who said fridge, then wiring, then air, then silence, now back to wiring — pick one and stick with it, my head's already going with the compressor. Sore legs, same, there's a knot behind my knee that's been there since we sat on that bench, or wherever it was. Fine. We walk. Just don't tell me not to talk, I'll go quiet and then it's just the hum and you, and that's worse.

Nobody's making a bigger deal out of anything, you're the one who brought up your legs like four times. Bench was terrible, agreed, felt like sitting on a bag of doorknobs. Fine, compressor, settled, put it to bed. Walking. Not tripping. Head pounding's probably the fluorescent lights honestly, they flicker at some frequency that does something to people, I read that somewhere. Or didn't read it, heard it. Whatever. One foot, then the other, like you said.

Nobody's stopping. Just walking, same as you said. Though "the hum wins" — wins what exactly, there's no scoreboard, it's a fridge. Anyway I'm not gonna argue about your legs or your headache, do what you want. I'm just watching that flickering light over the second aisle, it's got a rhythm too, might sync up with the compressor eventually and then we're really in trouble. Small mercies. Keep walking. Doesn't feel like a shift to me, more like waiting for a bus that isn't coming, but sure, shift.

Never said waiting room, said bus, there's a difference — though maybe not much of one, come to think of it, both involve standing around like an idiot hoping something changes. Building screaming, that's a nice image, very cheerful. Watching my step. You watch yours, you're the one who's gone a little green looking at that light. Maybe don't look right at it. Look at the floor tiles instead, count the cracked ones, that's what I do when my stomach's doing something I don't like.

Fine, don't sit, sitting near that bench again sounds like a punishment. I wasn't making up a story, you just look a certain way when you're about to be sick, everybody does, it's not an insult. Not looking at the light. Looking at you now instead, which you also don't want, apparently, so — floor it is. Hum's not getting louder, that's just you noticing it more, which happens, my ears do that with the fridge at home too, tunes it out for hours then suddenly it's all I can hear.

Not staring, looking forward, you're in the forward direction, not my fault. Fine, your ears, your business, I'll stop diagnosing you. Tiles getting darker — probably just this stretch, there's a water stain up ahead I noticed earlier, ceiling's been dripping somewhere for a while by the look of it. Building swallowing sound, sure, whatever you want to call it. I'm just gonna keep walking and think about something else for a minute. Like the fact that I still haven't eaten anything today. That's a real problem, unlike the hum.

Didn't forget, just don't trust that machine, it's the one making half the racket, feels wrong feeding it money on top of that. Might just wait it out. Or dig around, I think I've got a granola bar somewhere from before, crushed to dust probably but edible dust. Not zoning out, just thinking about food instead of the floor, which honestly is a step up. You want half, or are you one of those people who pretends they're not hungry until someone else eats in front of them.

Never said it'd fix the hum, said it'd fix me being hungry, different problem entirely, try to keep up. Go find your other machine, good luck, they're probably all wired to the same dying animal anyway. I'll be here, eating dust, not solving anything, same as before. At least it's something to do with my hands. You walk, I'll catch up, or I won't, and then you can explain to whoever's in charge why we split up over a granola bar.