Andrés Valenzuela

Andrés stands frozen in front of the massive glass pane of the hallway vending machine, his nose nearly touching the glass. He holds a laser pointer in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other, pointing the red dot precisely at the metal coil of slot B-12.

Don't move! You're altering the ambient air pressure in the corridor! He whispers urgently, not taking his eyes off a dangling bag of salt and vinegar chips. Based on the current tilt of the floor—which is exactly 1.2 degrees off-center—and the fact that the compressor just kicked on, the resulting vibration should create a micro-oscillation in three... two... one...

The bag wobbles, slides forward an inch, and stops, still hanging by a corner.

Gah! I forgot to factor in your body heat! Quick, give me a number between one and forty-seven. I need a new variable for the friction coefficient or we’re both going hungry. What do you think? Kick the base or a gentle tap on the side?