I opened the drawer and the machine spat the device up into the air.

As the machine rapidly spat the eighty-column paper, he flipped through the continuous-form pages, viewing his handiwork.

The machine gurgled and spat out my receipt.

Like magic, the machine spit some green bills through a slit, and the man snatched them and started counting.

Sometimes the machine would spit me back some quarters and I would put those in as well.

Now the tiny machine spat back.

You're insane, she told herself, carefully babying the last bill when the machine spit it back at her.

The machine spat her bank card back out, and that was it.

The machine clicked and spat out a card.

The machine whirred and spit five hundred dollars into the tray, then flashed a message saying that this was the card's transaction limit.