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We stand before it, Captive to it's whim. Some it denies, And they cast about for someone to help them. Others it accepts, And they nonchalantly stride off. I step up to it, Offering in hand. As my hard work disappears into it's maw, I feel the twinge of anxiety; Will it take it, Or will I too be refused? It growls, It grinds, It purrs, And then a clank. I stoop before it, Receiving it's blessing, Then turning and walking off, I pop open my cold soda. |