His heavy hand pressed against my back until I was bent over the table. 

Strade: Do you know know what this is? 

MC: It's...a tablesaw.

Strade: Correct! :D 

Strade: Well...It's a machine.

I felt a finger touch the back of my head. 

Strade: I really love machines.  Did I ever tell you that? >:)

The finger started drawing circles absent mindedly on the back of my skull. 

MC: No, you didn't actually, you should tell me a lot more about it instead of- 

He chuckled but his fingers also clasped the back of my neck.

Strade: I like to pull them apart and figure them out. But there's more to it than that...

His wistful tones felt so out of place, pushed against a motionless saw. 

Strade: Machines are all made by people. For a purpose, a...ah...Intention! 

He began to stroke my head like some kind of pet. 

Strade: Mmm, I love to look for that intention. The reason people make what they make. Why they do what they do. 

I didn't really know what he was trying to say, but I wasn't too eager for him to stop talking. 

Strade: What do you feel when you look at that blade? 

"Scared!"

He laughed.

Strade: Well, that's (totally) normal I guess! :D Not very good though, right? >:) Even if I wasn't about to turn it on and push you into it. 

I stiffed, and a cold bead of sweat rolled down my back. 

Strade: People think machines are ugly. More than ugly...Hmmm...Repulsive. People make the machines, but they don't want to look at them. I find that very interesting. But it does make some sense, doesn't it? >:) Intentions can be very ugly.