There is a new coffee machine in the pantry.

The buttons are a fierce blue and they blink, like what I imagine is that back of a robot. The sides no longer have a picture of a pretty girl with long flowing hair. Now, there’s Pac-Man consuming cups of coffee instead of whatever else he otherwise consumes. One can’t tell if he’s happy or sad by the caffeine intake, because well it’s hard to tell with a face that geometric.

They took the old coffee machine out in a big blue polythene and from a distance it looked like a person. A dead body, possibly mangled, being taken away to be appropriately disposed. The place where the machine was kept was caked with old coffee remnants and half crushed beans. There was a distinct smell of sour milk.

In the afternoon, we went with our ceramic mugs to partake of some new coffee. The machine sputtered and sighed and a rich brown stream of coffee slid into my mug. I drank it with unnatural amounts of relish. There is something very comforting about coffee that doesn’t taste like metal scrap.