I glare at the wall and wait for my machine to respond.
It whirs. Clicks. Thumps a few times. It should’ve done something by now.
I wait. Flick a switch. Tap the keys. Once more.
The seconds crawl into minutes on the wall. I breathe. The machine whirs and thumps and whirs and clicks. On the outside, I am pure patience.
On the inside, I’m in a fighting rage. I’ve already smashed the machine against the wall a thousand times.
On the outside, I wait.
They assured me the machine would free up my time. Instead, I’ve become its slave.
