You might think she is stopping to say hello to someone.
But she fastens her gaze on the machine that screeches weirdly every half an hour. For a moment, she thinks she can hear a snatch of drumbeat that shatters sleep or the sun. And so she immediately waddles on her way.
She remembers that it’s only a machine, after all.
She lands beyond the grinding mills, behind the glass partition, next to the massive photocopier. Sheltered...

• Scotch / Scotch

• Ioana Bradea