#qualitative.

[The terminal hums despite ample activity around it, the land of the living oblivious to the crackle of the decrepit automated checkout-receipt-giver and children-placater, the bulky box sat on the end of the booth in the back “corner” of the rainforest cafe. They’re closing up for the night, and the machine seems to be malfunctioning despite no apparent scars on its hull. Or, it’s screen flashes blue red black blue blue only in the land of the dead. It’s 9:26 pm.]