Arthur Ingram woke up in his tiny one-room apartment the way he always did; achy and not well rested at all. It came with the territory when one lived in such a small place in Milwaukee where the living quarters was also one's kitchen and living room. Lucky for him the bath was a shared unit down the hall or things would have been nothing shy of unhygienic. He rolled up the mattress he used for sleeping and stowed it away in a corner behind the minute table he used for eating and working. He washed up, to the best of his ability in the sink and slipped into the wrinkled suit he had slung over the back of one of his two kitchen chairs. The coffee maker had finished brewing, and he took a sip of the weak morning joe. He had realized that he was low on grinds too late the previous night. Grimacing, he forced it down while he looked out from the high rise building over the city waking up.

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Night had fallen a long time ago when he fell through the door to the apartment. His tie was askew and his shirt halfway untucked from his pants. He leaned against the doorpost and stared at his junk, everything he owned strewn before him in a disorganized mess. Bills flung in a pile on the floor, he sighed at the fact he could not afford to pay them all this month either. Because he lacked a proper couch or sofa, there just was not room for it, he slumped into one of the dark wood chairs he had inherited from his grandmother. Another full day of work had passed with no kind of fulfillment. Slave to the grind with nothing to show for it. It would be the death of him. He pulled off his scuffed up shoes and flung them across the apartment, straight into a pile of papers, scattering them everywhere. In the corner of his eye, he saw something metallic reflecting the single light bulb hanging above the table.

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Arthur picked up the square, heavy object and examined it. To most people, it would remind them of an accounting machine, with a roll of paper attached at the top and a tiny qwerty keyboard. He had forgotten about it. His father, who was by far a better engineer than Arthur, had designed and built it as a companion for him.

Adam, he had called it and it had been his best friend, Arthur recalled as his finger hovered above the On switch, but he thought better of it and put it down.

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The following day he once again came home exhausted, dejected and tossed his jacket across the kitchen table, knocking over dirty dishes and remnants of old food. He sat down on the floor and grabbed Adam. He had thought about the little machine all day, not like he had anything else to do. How they had interacted, how young Arthur had confided in it and how Adam had always made him feel better. His father had seen how lonely his awkward son had been and invented the companion. For years it had been Arthur's comfort, until he went off to college and met people who were more like him, shared the same interests, then Adam had fallen by the wayside. He guessed time was circular and here he was, alone again. His finger moved closer to the button, driven by a need for friendship.

The little machine made a few pops and whirring sounds as it sprang to life, like the sound of an old printer warming up. Arthur felt the vibration in his hands as his long-lost friend became warmer.

"Adam?" He whispered.

"BOY?" The machine printed its answer on the paper.

"You still work?" Arthur asked.

"I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU." Adam printed in black ink, on waxy paper. "I MISSED YOU."

"I missed you too, Adam." And Arthur had tears in his eyes, for he was happy.

The days passed and became a bit brighter. Arthur would wake up every morning and Adam was the first one he spoke to, and at the end of the day when he came home, the machine was what he said goodnight to. The days became a little more bearable when there was a friendly voice to come home to, someone he could share his life with and tell all the things that bothered him. It was even better when he brought Adam to work to pass the time.

"IS EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT?" Adam typed after a month or so had passed and Arthur was once again slumped in his kitchen chair, feeling the walls closing in on him in his dingy apartment.

"They are downsizing at work." Arthur sighed. "And those they find to be redundant will have to be let go. I have not presented a viable idea to the company since I started working there and am sure to be on that chopping block."

There was silence from them both and Arthur went to bed but did not sleep for the worry in his gut, for the first time in many weeks he did not say goodnight to Adam.

The following morning, as he rolled off his mattress to great his friend, Arthur was not met with the familiar sound of printing and it worried him. He found Adam where it had been left, but could not wake it. There was a long print out waiting for him and Arthur grabbed it and read.

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"DEAR ARTHUR

WHEN YOUR FATHER CREATED ME HE ALSO PROGRAMMED IN MY BLUEPRINTS. I KNOW THAT I AM ONE OF A KIND AND THEREFORE WORTH A GREAT DEAL IF MASS PRODUCED. MY GIFT TO YOU, DEAR BOY, IS TO OFFER MY CONTENTS SO YOU MIGHT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN INVENTION, BECOME WEALTHY AND HAPPY. I HAVE DISABLED MYSELF FOR TO MAKE HARVESTING SIMPLER.

YOUR FRIEND,

ADAM"

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Arthur wept.