Randy Evans reaches his hand into the roaster and picks an errant bean from the slowly turning pile that is being spread around the cooling bin. His other hand rests in his pocket.
In a constant low hum, the stainless steel arm turns in even, mechanical rotations. The beans roll and tumble against each other, their history perfuming the air as if horticulture were poetry.
With each sweep of the arm, beans are ejected like slot machine winnings from the front of the roaster. They pour into a deep bucket with a woody, musical sound, filling it rhythmically until the roaster is empty.