The photobooth

It stood at a rundown mall on a busy street, its side stained by spilled beer and vomit. Perhaps it was the saturation of human emotion that one day made it sentient. It became to see the people who came to use it. The hopefulness of those taking photos for their passport, or their college applications, or their resume. Or the wild euphoria of the young folks that jammed into the sitting area. It sometimes wished it could tell them not to crush inside, but never found the will. It began to add little embellishments to the photographs it did, adjusting the lighting to make folks look better. It wanted to make people smile, but didn't know how. It began to get bolder, adding little embellishments to their photographs. Little flutters in one of the photographs, floating angels, even removing what it thought were ugly moles. But it never quite knew if the good that it did ever really helped.