The coffee cost two coins and a small portion of my remaining faith in infrastructure. I stood beneath flickering lights while the machine behind the counter produced something that qualified as liquid but violated several unwritten agreements with nature. The cup warmed my hands, which was the only successful part of the transaction.
A truck driver near the refrigerators was engaged in a deeply personal argument with a vending machine. One of the chocolate bars had jammed halfway during descent and now hung suspended in the uneasy stalemate only vending machines seem capable of creating.
The driver stared at it with battlefield intensity. “You know what you did!”
Pressure has a way of sorting men into categories. Some become dangerous. Others philosophical. Truck stops at three in the morning seem to attract both with remarkable consistency. The cashier barely looked up as I paid. Her expression suggested she’d already seen enough of humanity to stop collecting further evidence.
The driver was still trying to reason with the vending machine when I left. Some arguments aren't about winning. Indifference is easier to tolerate when you can shout at it.
The story continues on May 31.
The Geometry of Choice: Book I of The Equilibrium Strain.
©️ 2026 Bob Roland. All rights reserved.