He watched them with something akin to resentment as they sauntered in and out of his field of vision. The motors controlling his eye cameras were the last to go, thankfully giving him almost a year of free observation, but now they were frozen low in an almost demure pose.
When his owner had dropped him off, she’d requested earnestly that he be given a view of the street as they wrestled his partially frozen carcass out of the truck. The head recycler looked at her strangely, but gave in after watching the tears well up in farewell to her faithful friend.
Two sad years of watching the newer models pass on the street, sometimes escorting schoolchildren, sometimes just running meaningless but necessary errands for their owners. Two years of slowly rusting joints and corroding circuitry, his voice center crashing around the same time as his neck joint seized, until finally all that was left was his out of date eyes and the rapidly failing gelatinous brain.
He wondered if it would be like falling asleep.