Row C-3. Third slot from the left.

The compressor kicks on. Twelve minutes. Always twelve minutes. My aluminum skin contracts another fraction of a millimeter. The Coca-Cola script across my middle has started flaking where the refrigeration coils kiss closest. Oxidation in real time.

Through the glass: water stains mapping continents on ceiling tiles. A microwave's digital display frozen at 12:00. Tuesday's tuna sandwich growing new life in the trash. The break room of Meridian Financial Services...