Clean white surfaces.
Light beige tile.
Toaster making toast. Something cooking in the oven. Water boiling on the stove.
A fruit shake is turning brown in the blender.
Then, spontaneous puree...cycling...
The toaster hisses quietly, lovingly, softening the intrusion. The toast
pops up. A jump in voltage. The electrical system pushes harder.
The telephone lines are swollen. It rings half way then stops.
Information coming through. Answering machine coming on.
"Sorry no one can help you now. Please leave a message at the tone."
Answer: a good opportunity.
A knock at the door. A faint voice on the other side. Retreating footsteps.
One, two, three, then gone. Car starting up, sounds of traffic. Who's out there? Do they guess what is present in this kitchen?
The TV switches on. The appliances listen. Television news. The outside moving in. Nameless Influences.
Then recovery. A decision is made. A roast is spit out, passionately, from the oven. It's a self-cleaning oven, it turns up its heat, protecting itself from golden grease bubbles.
Movement. A jet of water spits out from the sink. A red light in the corner of the room, whirring. Surveillance cameras watch. They're horrified at what they see.
Laundry, piling up, too many color together for the lenses to process. The iron is tired, just thinking of it.
A gurgle, pancake batter quietly rising in a covered bowl. Oil heating on the stovetop...waiting expectantly. The boiling water waiting to be introduced to coffee grounds. Not quite yet.
Footsteps outside. A flyer slides in from under the door. A coupon for coffee. A potential action embodied. Inventory for consumption.
The kitchen decides. The kitchen acts. The kitchen swallows.