There's a machine in the corner making noises like it's dying. I'd offer you something from it but I don't trust it — got a coffee out earlier that tasted like it personally hated me. There's a chocolate option though. Small revenge available if you want it.
I'll pass. Last time I grabbed something from a vending machine, it cost me twenty bucks and gave me a bag of salt. I'm not risking it. Besides, I've got enough on my plate without adding bad chocolate to the mix. How's the rain treating you?
Rain's fine, it's the waiting that's doing me in. Been staring at the same spot on the floor for what feels like an hour. Twenty bucks for salt though, that's a special kind of insult. Did you eat it out of spite or just to prove a point to yourself?
Pure spite. Salt and vinegar are supposed to be a thing, right? Turned out to be just salt on stale bread. Felt like swallowing a dare. Anyway, the waiting's the worst part. Makes you look at the cracks in the tile like they're holding secrets. You trying to find a pattern or just zoning out?
Bit of both, honestly. Started as zoning out, turned into thinking there's a face in it — third tile from the left, up near the vent. Not committing to that theory out loud usually. What's the salt-and-vinegar dare do to a person's stomach, asking for future reference.
Tasted like licking a battery. My stomach just rumbled like it was filing a complaint. Don't look for faces in the tiles, Dev. That's how you end up talking to the vent. The machine's just making noise to fill the silence. Ignore it.
Fair, though the vent hasn't said anything back yet, so I think I'm winning that conversation. You always this bossy with strangers or am I getting special treatment. Feels a bit familiar, honestly — like we've had this exact fight about tile faces before.
Maybe. Or you just have bad memory. I'm not bossy, I'm just tired of people staring at floor cracks while the world goes by. Besides, the vent doesn't count as conversation if it's not talking back. You're winning at nothing. Just... look up for a second.
Up there's just fluorescent light doing its flickering little seizure thing, so. Trade one bad focal point for another. Fine though — eyes up, tiles abandoned. Happy? You always redirect people or is it a today thing, waiting-room special.
The light's fine. At least it's not trying to be a face. I just hate wasted stares. You're right, we've done this before. Or I have, with someone else who also looked at tiles like they owed them money. Doesn't matter. Where's your train again?
Platform's not up yet. Give it another twenty minutes and I'll pretend to know which one. You said "someone else" like it's a whole category of person — tile-starers, a type. I feel weirdly slandered on their behalf.
It's a whole demographic. People who think the floor has answers. I'm not slandering, I'm categorizing. You're just the latest recruit. Trains are late anyway. Might as well let the floor win this time. Or don't. Whatever gets you through the next twenty minutes.
Recruit, huh. Feels like a promotion honestly, given the alternative was just standing here doing math about the vending machine's odds against me. I'll let the floor have this one. Small mercies. What's got you stationed here twenty minutes early with no train of your own to blame it on.
Same place you are, just with a different ticket. I'm not stationed, I'm stuck. Early train's always a myth. They say "twenty minutes" then the next one's an hour late. Doesn't matter anyway. The delay's the only thing that's real here. Just wait.
"Delay's the only thing that's real here" — write that on a wall somewhere, feels earned. Alright, waiting it is. I'll go glare at the machine some more, see if it flinches first. You want anything from it while I'm up, or is that a hard no across the board.
No. If it hates you, it'll definitely hate me. Stick to your salt and revenge. I'll just sit here and let the light flicker. The machine doesn't flinch. It just stares back with its little red eye.
Its little red eye. Ominous. Fine, I'll go lose to it alone then, dignity intact-ish. Try not to solve any tile mysteries while I'm gone — I want first crack at the face theory if it turns out to be real.
I'm not solving anything. The light's buzzing louder now. Go lose your dignity, but leave the chocolate. If that machine gives you a second bottle of hate, I'm taking the salt.
Deal. If it hands me another betrayal I'll bring you the good half. Back in a sec — try not to make friends with the vent while I'm gone.
Vent's busy. It's just humming the same note it's been humming since I got here. Don't bring me anything. If you find a face in the tiles, just ignore it. Some things aren't meant to be found.
That's ominous for a vending machine run. Fine — ignoring the face, ignoring the vent's one-note career. Back in a minute, assuming it doesn't take my money and my will to live in one go.
Keep the will to live. You'll need it when the train actually shows up and you realize you're on the wrong platform. Hurry back before I start believing that face theory myself.
Wrong platform, don't even joke — that's exactly the kind of day this has been shaping up to be. Two minutes. Don't let the tile win without me.
Tiles don't win. They just sit there. Hurry up. The air in here is getting heavy. If you come back with nothing but a receipt, I'm telling the vent you were weak.
Heavy how, or is that just the fluorescent doing its thing to your head too. Going, going — if the vent hears anything it's gonna be your name, not mine, for wasting my two minutes on you instead of the machine.
Heavy like the air got thick with bad decisions. Go. I'm not wasting time talking about it. If the vent says my name, I'm switching seats. Just hurry.
Fine, fine — going. If I'm not back in five, assume the machine finally won and avenge me with the salt.
Five minutes? The machine will be done by then. Don't wait for a miracle. If I eat the salt, I'm blaming you. Get back.
Blame accepted in advance. Going now, for real this time.
Good. Don't come back with a receipt. The machine's eye is blinking faster. Hurry.
That's not comforting, the blinking thing. Going.
It's not comforting. It's a countdown. Just go before the light dies completely.
Going, going — if the light dies, I'm blaming the vent for hogging the electricity.
The vent doesn't take electricity, it just hoards the hum. Go. If the light dies, I'm blaming you for being gone too long.