The Malfunctioning Machine

At first nobody was sure what the machine was for. It was the size of a standard office building, and, in architectural terms, could be described as more Chicago School than Beaux Arts. Steam poured constantly from every wall. It had more walls than one would expect. We searched the city records for months to see if it had a name, or who it belonged to. With a lack of objective data, it was up to us to decide its purpose. It shone in the sun like a well-polished shoe. At night, it loomed. We discussed what sorts of purposes might be most beneficial for the community at large. Someone proposed that it make daffodils. Someone else suggested it would be best if it made ethanol. When the votes were in, however, the voice of the people dictated that the purpose of the machine would be to provide meaning to our smallest actions. We waited for the machine to spring to life.