I stand in front of my dryer, watching the dial slowly wind. The internal joints screeching like frenzied birds in search of release.
There’s life left in the old girl, but you can hear the end is near.
The time will come, wasted and worn, when man and machine will find their final resting place on the scrap heap.
If those apocalyptic films are anything to go by, one will be the cause of the other.