Folk Music Research Paper

Calming folk music started to play, daintily, out of his rusted and grease weathered speakers. The tune covered up the voices nicely, like a burnt-skin-grade concealer. The volume was turned up slightly, to achieve the full drowning out effect. He did not know what the voices were, nor where they came from, how they got there or even why they existed. However, he did know who they were, as he had heard them before. Many customers came to his humble, heavy, and helter-skelter iron abode, and occasionally, some would not return to their families with their high sugar salads, "ham" burgers, horse meat chicken nuggets, and serotonin depreciative diet soda. Of course, he did not know where those particular customers went after each order milestone,
but he always feels their presence afterwards. He always hears their talking, their yelling, their screaming, their traumatization; they never stop, ever.
His mind started to get more and more blurred, and distorted as he thought about them more. Going deep into his mind was jumping into a river of confusion, each path leading into different possibilities of never ending direction, so he stopped, to prevent another case of deep thought that would have lasted for multiple days. The folk music continued to play as he got out of his ramshackle bed, his sweatpants sparked against the fuzzy and oil stained sheets, (luckily not starting a fire again). It was mandatory for workers to get ready properly in the morning, and check to see if they are clean and professional each morning, as to not disturb any potential customers. He was a worker, but since the customers could not see him, as the box was too dark to easily see anything inside, he did not have to get ready, but he did anyway. He thought getting ready was fun! He treaded over to the mirror, which was slightly cracked and distorted, and gazed at his visage. His dark metallic coating gleamed in the looking glass, and he noticed that he was slightly damaged from all the work that he has done so
far. He was still fully functional, which was easy to tell as he danced slightly and cheerfully to the music because he knew nobody was around. He continued to gaze into his reflection, and gave a worried look, as he hasn't cleaned himself for a while. His multi-jointed limbs, box likes chest and head, and his eyeballs were all very dirty, dusty, and dank. He first started off by stretching out his vacuum-tube like arms and legs. Each time a segment moved, a small clink peaked out, along with many crumbs of stale food that were stuck in the various wedges and joints, created tension in his arms. Removing this tension felt amazing to him, and he gave out a small and happy Chi rP. He removed some wet wipes from the countless boxes he already had from previous customers, and started cleaning himself top to bottom. He started at his fluorescent eye-bulbs, which also had different sensors for different things such as fruits, vegetables, and meat. Now that he could see clearly, he also cleaned up the rest of his body, using another wet wipe. He had a small food processor (mainly used for meat) in his stomach, which he cleaned thoroughly as to not infect any food with dangerous germs. Near the food processor, was an oil and gas tank which was inside his body, only the side being revealed for ease of access viewing. The oil levels were pretty high, so he pressed the button labelled, RE-OIL; the label was slightly worn off but still readable. Oil soon spread throughout the small tubes in his body, and gave his limbs the jolt they needed. Afterwards, he then took off his sweatpants and threw them in his laundry bin, taking a clean pair and putting them on. Sadly, even after being washed, they still had blood stains on them, but it did not bother him, as it was just a pigment, and not actual blood. When he was finally done, he carefully cleaned his hexagonal speakers, and his long antenna, which had small orbs at the top that were used to listen to signals and for easy access light. As he was finishing up, he looked into the mirror, and played an audio clip gotten from one of the movies he had watched

before.

"d A sh I ng".

On the wall behind him, many selfies of himself were strung in an orderly fashion, each unprofessionally taken in varying qualities from different phones.
These pictures lying under a large degraded plaque with the words, "EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH" carved into it. Each photo had been written on with a black sharpie; all of the pictures had the name '' NIKALIS'' printed on the bottom, in a very lazy kind of hand-writing. Nikalis had then just remembered that he forgot the most important part of his appearance - his name tag. Nikalis went to the east side of his room, where his bed, gas, and oil tank were, and he found the nametag, which he kept in his pillowcase. The lamination on it was splitting, but the magnet it was connected to was still very strong, as it stuck right onto the left side of his boxy body. The tag read, ''Hello, my name is NIKALIS'', with Nikalis's signature looking almost identical to the photos on his south wall that he looked at before. Nikalis decided to go to the south wall, but not before he visited his rusty gas and oil tank, and refilled both of his internal tanks to the brim. Both of the tanks were actually connected to underground oil and gas reserves, so he would not run out anytime soon, and therefore, he did not have to worry. When he walked over to the south side of his room, (which did not take long at all, as the box was extremely small and compact), he scanned through the other various items that existed there. An already aforementioned
employee of the month collage, which had pictures and pictures representing each month throughout the years, a small and rotting wooden container, which held countless trinkets from past visitors, such as phones, writing utensils, money from different countries, or that had different designs, (those were always the coolest ones so he didn’t put them in the cash register), and many other items one might expect to see in the average car. There was also a large, black, garbage bag that had been freshly opened. Nikalis uses garbage bags for easy disposal of anything, as there is a large trash shoot in the south east side of his room, which leads to a huge underground chamber that cannot be accessed by the average man.*Brnnv brnnv*. Nikalis swept his head over directly to the north side of the room. It contained a beige plastic countertop, that has been turned yellow over many years of grease and oil. On the countertop, lied a large white phone with a slightly scratched screen. Nikalas walked over, and gazed at his snazzy clean pants along the way. He checked the galaxy SIII, and saw a notification from the instant messenger. He had kept this phone very dear to his heart, as it had an unlimited data plan, a large credit card sum, so he could buy whatever games he wanted to, and a large SD card. He got through the phone with minimal effort, as he spent many days trying to get the password, and when he finally achieved the mammoth goal, he wrote it down. The message read as,

''LISA : I understand if you ran away from us for a reason, but I need to know why. You won't need to pay child support or anything, but I just need to know what we did wrong.''

Nikalis felt a sharp ''L I S A'' in his head, but turned up the music to block it out. He did not know what sort of dramas went on in Lisas life, so instead of sending a fake excuse he instead sent an emoticon that was already pre-programmed into the phone.