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"Oh, how I wish I could walk," said the copy machine, "so that I may be able to leave this white-walled office!"
It's true; any copy machine burdened with the weight of having to reproduce others' work in such a dull place would go mad. The copy machine heaved a huge technologic sigh of self pity, its scanner door lifting towards the alabaster ceiling tiles.
"I really do try to be original," said the copy machine, speaking to no one, "but I haven't a clue how!"
The copy machine half-heartedly left its scanner door open, for another blank-faced banker walked into the fluorescent room with a stack of word-less, blanched papers and one scribbled-on page.
"How are you today, Blank-Face?" the copy machine asked with interest.
Blank-Face stayed blank-faced.
"The same, I see," the copy machine replied.
Blank-Face finished copying and soon after ambled through the bleached door.
"It was absolutely marvelous to see you again, Blank-Face!" the copy machine hollered. Then sighed, again.
The copy machine turned to the fax machine, and spoke, "Hey, you look to be a tad bit new here, no?"
The fax machine blinked its lights.
"So I thought…"
The copy machine thought for a split moment.
"You seem to know right. May I ask you a question?"
The fax machine flickered.
"How is it that you're so original?"
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