The truth was, the M402dne was a quiet warhorse. It had survived three tax seasons, two coffee spills, and one incident involving a stray paperclip that should have destroyed its fuser. It printed 40 pages a minute without complaint, its little green “Ready” light glowing like a patient heart.

“Dave! The printer is having a seizure.”

Mark ripped the cartridge out. It was a genuine HP 26A. He shook it. It was half full. “It’s lying!”

Dave would just pat its matte plastic casing. “It’s reliable , Mark. It has a duplexer. It has Ethernet. It has soul .”

Dave started laughing. Mark buried his face in his hands.

Mark was a minimalist. Dave was a hoarder of obsolete tech. Their biggest point of contention lived on a gray metal shelf: the .

Not gibberish. Actual poetry.

“It’s a dinosaur,” Mark said every Monday, kicking the shelf. “It’s slower than dial-up.”