All the Quarters

The receipt that starts this song is real in every dimension that matters: Memorial General Hospital, Building C, Hallway Four, outside the ICU. Canteen Vending unit C-408. Thursday, March fourteenth. Two seventeen in the morning. Nine dollars and twenty-five cents, fed in quarters — exact change, over the course of several hours, a handful at a time from coat pockets and then from the car ashtray.

The man who spent it wasn't hungry. He bought Austin Cheese Crackers twice, then a Snickers he never opened, a Sprite that tasted like nothing, a foam cup of machine coffee that came out lukewarm, and a Ritz snack pack he stacked on the empty seat beside him like he was building something. He was building something. He carried each item back from the machine in the hallway and set it down and then, after a while, went back to the machine. The machine was the only thing in that building that responded to him at two in the morning. It took his quarter. It gave him something back. That was the whole transaction.

The door at the end of Hallway Four is the center of this song — not what's behind it, but the act of watching it from a chair thirty feet away with a lap full of crackers you won't eat. There is a particular kind of grief that expresses itself entirely as small, purposeless motion. Feeding a vending machine is that motion. The song doesn't resolve. The door doesn't open while we're listening. The quarters just run out, and then the outro holds on — the way you hold on when you can't do anything else.

[Verse 1] The machine is the only door that opens when I knock It takes my quarters and it hums Like it don't care what time it is on any clock The hallway smells like floor wax and the fluorescent lights don't blink They just hold everything in place While I go back and feed the thing

I got crackers in my jacket pocket, can't remember which time Bought a Snickers I won't open Bought a Sprite that tastes like nothing Got a coffee from the slot that comes out lukewarm every time And I'm standing at the door at the end of the hallway Watching it like it owes me something

[Chorus] All the quarters from my coat From my left pocket and my right All the quarters from the ashtray of the car Thirty-seven trips around the parking lot tonight Feed it in and push the button Carry back what comes out cold All the quarters, all the crackers, all the hallway Can't do nothing but be here to hold

[Verse 2] There's a woman at the desk who doesn't look up anymore We made our peace around midnight When I stopped asking what the lights meant on the board She handed me a blanket, said the couch was good enough I said I wasn't tired She said she knew But the blanket still came out

I got the Ritz stacked on the seat beside me like a little wall Like if I build enough of something Maybe something holds The crackers and the Snickers and the foam cup going cold And the door at the end of the hallway Still just standing there Still closed

[Bridge] I know the room where she is I know the number on the door I know the name of every doctor I have asked for nothing more They said they'd come and find me I have not moved from this chair I am leaving little towers Of the things I bought out there

The vending machine receipt says nine twenty-five At two seventeen in the morning I was still alive Still spending money on the crackers that I'll never eat Carrying them back to my seat, back to my seat

[Outro] Hold on Hold on The door at the end of the hallway Hold on The machine takes one more quarter Hold on, hold on The crackers on the chair beside me Hold on

Two seventeen AM Building C Hallway Four All the quarters All the quarters gone