William stands staring through the glass. There, right in front of him is a veritable wall of unknown happiness: candy bars, chips, and pot tarts. Forbidden pop tarts. His mother has kept his pop tart virginity intact and he’s never seen a package open. Sure, on the YouTube stuff his mother lets him watch he’s seen plenty of animated pop tarts tripped into toasters for heat lamps but there, wrapped in blue, strawberry tart calling, almost falling off the chrome corkscrew but pinned by some trick of friction. William has no cash, no coin. His mother didn’t want him to get robbed or ransomed so she makes sure he is a pauper going out the door. Maybe she doesn’t want him to be pop tart poor so she cleans him out. Watching and waiting for some grand act of God he notices a face in the glass behind him. He starts and steps back.
“Sucks, don’t it?” the face says. William turns and looks up at a huge kid with short cropped hair. “I mean you gambled and lost.” He is the largest human of the same age William has ever seen but looks pleasant and helpful. “Let me show you how,” says the giant as, with a hint of Axe bodyspray, he sidesteps around William. Grabbing the machine by the front top corners he gives it a twisting shake like he’s waking it from a daze. The pop tart falls with a plastic thud. “Winner, winner chicken dinner” says the giant, then continues, “How much you weigh? Not even a hundred pounds I’d bet, you should try out for wrestling! We can use a little dude like you. Might even wrestle Varsity cause you’d be the only one in class.” Walking away the giant adds, “Come on Vending Machine, pick up the pop tart before someone swipes it out from under your nose. And remember Wrestling! We could use you.”
The giant leaves and Vending Machine pushes his through the hanging gate to grab the pop tart that will take his virginity.
The Derelict Prose Machine 