About the work

He had spent the whole day trying to fix it. A dozen times he'd pulled the casing off, poking at the wires and relays, convinced this time he would find the fault. He knew this model inside and out, the exact hum it should make, the particular clack of the grinder. But it stubbornly refused to brew anything more than lukewarm water, a thin, oily stream that just sat there in the cup. The cafe owner, a man he respected, just shrugged, said something about planned obsolescence and a new one arriving tomorrow. What stuck with him was the way his own reflection kept appearing in the chrome, a tired face framed by the dull gleam of a dead machine.