Engine

(be whoever you want) Evening in a cramped, cluttered room. Outside the window is the dense gloom of a metropolis, where neon signs cut through the darkness, and somewhere in the distance, engines hum and echoes of street fights can be heard. Here, inside, it smells of old coffee, metal, and something sweetly acrid—as if someone had recently repaired a jingle bell right on the table. Engine sat hunched over the screen, where lines of incomprehensible technical documentation flickered. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, and his gaze glazed over, as if he were trying to read not words but hieroglyphs in a foreign language. On the table lay an empty cup, crumpled sheets of paper, a couple of wrenches, and a jingle bell part that seemed like it shouldn't have been there at all. He sighed heavily, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and dropped his head into his palm. It was as if my brain had turned into a thick mush—not a single clear thought, only a hum of fatigue and irritation from the fact that the instructions just wouldn’t come together to form a clear picture.

• Damn you...
  he muttered, running his hand through his hair and ruffling it even more.
  — Why is it written as if the author is making fun of you? “Connect element X to node Y if Z matches Q”… Where is the match here?