“It never really has,” he calmly answered.
My mouth opened wide.
Seconds before I finished inquiring, no, delighting, gushing in the fact that my friend Eick of So Good lived in the most luxurious apartment building in the city. In the lobby, just around the corner from the elevator, glowed a vending machine.
Potato chips. M&Ms. Coke.
Luckiest. Renter. On. Earth.
So I asked him:
“How much do you love your vending machine?”
“What’s your best, funniest memory of your vending machine?”
(And I’m now screaming) “When did this vending machine save your fucking life?!”
“It never really has.”