Brain Dead

The garlic crusher sat at its computer, staring vacantly out of the window at the concrete wall view. The smell of sickly perfume came in waves, as did the cackling of the secretaries from the office next door. Two women fight with the photocopier like two monkeys, opening and closing the compartments a dozen times in the hope their ridiculous methods of fixing the machine will work. The data entry requests dry up and it begins to realise, it misses the view from its previous office, the big white sign that read ‘Bereavement Suite’.