Solace

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As I walk down the long, empty corridor, my mind begins to wander. I shouldn’t be here right now, I think to myself. I have somewhere to be, and this is certainly not it. But that doesn’t stop me. I continue my trek onwards, where, in the distance, I can just make out the outline of my final destination. Once I reach the culmination of my efforts, the fruit of my toils, then I’ll know whether or not it was all worth it. All the hard work, all the labor, all the bodies left void of any feeling along the way.

A door opens on my right, but no matter. I can’t let anything slow me down. I pick up my pace just the slightest bit as I see a figure in a suit appear in my right peripheries. Sorry sir, no slowing down today. Not when I’m this close. Not when I’ve been yearning for this replenishment for so long. “Eli?” he cries out as I dash past him. Like I said, no time for you today, sir. With all do respect, sir, I have more important things on my mind. Today, I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

Then I see it. Just like that, the machine seems to have materialized out of thin air, with it’s vibrant design and metallic sides. In the climate-controlled hallways where I spend my life rotting away, it’s merely a machine with buttons and levers. But I could just imagine this baby standing out there, all the lonesome, on a hot summer day, waiting for its next victim to pay its due fare.

But alas, that is not the case. As I approach the contrivance, I realize what my biggest mistake is. My entire trek over here, it didn’t cross my mind once to mull over my decisions. Here I am, hulking over smaller beings at a size of 6’1”, yet being reduced to the size of an ant standing next to this monstrous apparatus, and I have no idea what to do. Finally, I turn my gaze upwards, and utter a few words of prayer to the heavens above.

Now I divert my attention to the gargantuan equipment, and, more specifically, to what lies on the other side of the double-sided plexiglass. The choices seem endless, and are all wrapped in packagings of red, blue, yellow, white, brown, and many other colors. 100grand, KitKat extra crunchy, Milkyway, snickers, the random seasonal snack, such as the Hamentashin, and various assorted chips.

Oh, how I hate you, snack machine. While you never fail to deliver creamy deliciousness in a wrapper, you’ve also managed to make yourself the bane of my existence. Eating up my cash like a toddler attached to his mother’s teat, you rob me of time intervals of as many as 240 seconds at a time, and somewhere around one thousand cents a week. Curse you, collation vendor. I curse you to heck and beyond, snack machine.

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