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  • The thing about the copier was that it was always on.

    It was always glowing green.
    It was warm and humming all day, everyday, Saturday, Sunday.
    It was alone at night, waiting.
    It was alone on weekends.

    Well, it was alone with Sylvia.

    Sylvia cleaned floors.
    She scrubbed coffee on weekends.
    She fretted over stains on Linoleum even as
    Suburban wives fretted over stains on Khaki.

    It was her life, her work, her friend, the copier.
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