There are people who put a quarter into you—no more than that—and expect you to put out. Magic, food, sex, jokes, diagnosis, opinions that put into words their thoughts, validation that they are wonderful, ill, intriguing, underappreciated, special. When the first quarter doesn’t work, they irritably try another quarter. You can see the look on their faces. Frustration. Disdain.

You give it a go but when you’re still not producing what they would have of you, they give you a shake, or a kick or a lecture, as though to say what is wrong with this vending machine—not what its built up to be.

To them I say: Save your quarters. Look into yourselves for what it is you’re hoping to find.

To the machine I say: Don’t feel guilty for not putting out for every quarter you’re offered.

Sometimes I’m the machine. Sometimes, I’m sorry to say, it’s me inserting the quarters.