George picked up a can when he felt the soft static in the air. The key was under one of these; he was certain he’d find it. It had only been an hour since the last time he’d needed it—surely even he wouldn’t misplace it so easily.
But each can would invariably come up short. It wasn’t underneath the soda can. It wasn’t beneath the can of bug spray. It wasn’t here; it wasn’t there.
In frustration, he cast out his hand—scattering the metal everywhere. The sound was deafening, those cheap materials crashing against the wooden table.
But he found the key amongst the wreckage and smiled. It was almost like it was happy to see him, too. It glimmered with some internal light.
He picked it up, and the smile on his face was so wide as to be unsettling. A soft chuckle passed his lips as he went to the old vending machine. The front of it glowed suddenly, lighting up with a happy chime. Inside it were more cans—all types.
He put the key in the lock, swung open the glass window, and then took an armful of the stuff. He didn’t even stop hoarding with his free hand as his other sprayed cheese into his mouth. He made a mound at his feet as he put industrial lubricant past his gums, then air freshener.
“All the cans I can taste,” he moaned. He slammed shut the glass door, having exhausted it for the next amount of time. He never knew how long this golden miracle would take to replenish, but he was sure it would again.
After all, if he could not get more cans of things, he would surely go insane.