Time Vends Everything

“I don't think vending machines are supposed to talk to each other.” He popped a croissant out of his groin.

“But what is it that makes us machines? Is it the metal that we're made off? Is it the candy in our belly or the scrumptious baguette? Or perhaps the soda cans...” The headlights of a car illuminated the scars on his body.

“How should we feel about rusting away in corners, suffer the pain and the anguish. The dangers of the night. We've seen it all! We've suffered each and everyone of them!” Stopped. Four feet. They carry something superior, something heavy.

“And for what?” He ignored them.

“We're giving our souls, our innermost selves, we're selling out. For coins. Petty little pennies. The continuous cycle of providing fuel for their thirsty engine, food for their insatiable hunger.” They placed the new guy next to him and loosened the chains.

“And when one fails to provide the fist and the boot take their toll on our backs.”

They brought him down and chained him, dragged him to the back of the truck. Along with the refrigerator from the day before, they were going to end their lives under the metallic beak of the unforgiving crane.

His replacement was already installed in position when the engine started to roar.

“Evolution! Nothing personal”,shouted the new guy as the truck drove away from the corner.

“No”,he whispered to himself. “Revolution.”