I'm a Copy Machine

11:25 p.m. The man arrives looking worried. He tried printing his slides at the office. He tried emailing them across town. Nothing worked. So he raced to Kinko's. His name is Mark. He runs a small health care company. He needs to print 42 transparencies.

11:29 p.m. Philip gets things moving. He digs into a bag of pretzels and swigs some Sprite. He's a pro.

11:54 p.m. "Okay, first one's out." Mark has 41 transparencies to go.

12:20 a.m. Thirteen transparencies are out. Then the printer jams. Houston, we have a problem. Philip opens the belly of the beast. Mark looks on nervously.

12:24 a.m. Daria and Erik - whose shift ended hours ago - are still here. They're just hanging out. Erik is pulling grisly images of murdered and maimed bodies off the Internet in a futile effort to shock Daria. Two of their friends - one of whom used to work here - arrive to join the fun. Maybe this is the "Cheers" bar.

12:25 a.m. A man named Arthur comes into computer services. He's a T-shirt entrepreneur. His company is called P.O.G., Positive Outlook Gear. He comes in every night after midnight. And every night Philip - his work shift long since completed - helps him design materials on a computer.

12:27 a.m. Philip tells me he likes helping Arthur. "Besides," he admits, "this is where my friends are."

12:36 a.m. "Thank God for Kinko's," Arthur says. "I have the creativity, the ideas. I just need something to set them in motion. But being here at two o'clock in the afternoon wouldn't feel right. Right now, it's a good feeling - you know your competition is sleeping, and you're here working."

1:07 a.m. "Last one!" exclaims Mark as transparency 42 glides out of the printer. He's been here for almost two hours; his presentation begins in less than seven hours.

3:21 a.m. Terrence ("5 Years of Service") monitors a machine that is cranking out 66,000 copies for a local nonprofit group.

7:05 a.m. It's getting light outside now. The hold-for-pickup people start arriving. They're irritable. The sun is barely up, and they're already behind schedule.

7:53 a.m. Jason is back for another day. I see him across the store. He's operating the binding machine. Then he sees me: "You've been here for 24 hours, dude?"

8:32 a.m. I pack up to leave. I say goodbye to the coworkers. They are, I understand now, the yeomen of the Information Age. People trust them with their creations. People trust them with their ideas. People trust them with their lives. They do more than make copies. They manufacture dreams.