I put the coffee machine’s brain back in yesterday.

Nothing has happened. It booted quietly and hasn’t made a peep since.

I suppose there’s a possibility that it doesn’t know that I was the one who betrayed it, that I was the one that kept its brain in my desk these many months.

I doubt it though. Somehow I know it’s scheming, plotting its revenge. I know because the latte this morning had the taste of an evening storm blowing in over a gray sea.