【en】The Red Vending Machine That Learned to Eat

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She only wanted a warm can of coffee.
In a narrow alley, the red vending machine breathed—quietly, deliberately.
Coins fell. Lights blinked. A pause.

When her hand reached inside, the day folded.
Metal shed its mask and became a city’s stomach.
She was swallowed with the ordinary warmth of noon.

Inside, it was gentle.
Gears kept time like constellations; cans aligned like stars.
Street noise faded to a lullaby synced to her pulse.
This wasn’t a place of consumption—it was rearrangement.

The return slot opened.
Out came not the woman, but her laughter.
The city accepted it and moved on.
Only the red machine dimmed its lights, satisfied.