His heavy hand pressed against my back until I was bent over the table.
Strade: Do you know know what this is?
MC: It's...a tablesaw.
Strade: Correct! :D
Strade: Well...It's a machine.
I felt a finger touch the back of my head.
Strade: I really love machines. Did I ever tell you that? >:)
The finger started drawing circles absent mindedly on the back of my skull.
MC: No, you didn't actually, you should tell me a lot more about it instead of-
He chuckled but his fingers also clasped the back of my neck.
Strade: I like to pull them apart and figure them out. But there's more to it than that...
His wistful tones felt so out of place, pushed against a motionless saw.
Strade: Machines are all made by people. For a purpose, a...ah...Intention!
He began to stroke my head like some kind of pet.
Strade: Mmm, I love to look for that intention. The reason people make what they make. Why they do what they do.
I didn't really know what he was trying to say, but I wasn't too eager for him to stop talking.
Strade: What do you feel when you look at that blade?
"Scared!"
He laughed.
Strade: Well, that's (totally) normal I guess! :D Not very good though, right? >:) Even if I wasn't about to turn it on and push you into it.
I stiffed, and a cold bead of sweat rolled down my back.
Strade: People think machines are ugly. More than ugly...Hmmm...Repulsive. People make the machines, but they don't want to look at them. I find that very interesting. But it does make some sense, doesn't it? >:) Intentions can be very ugly.
A click, a high pitched mechanical scream, and the saw came to life right in front of my face...
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