You're out in the side yard in April, coiling the hose up after winter, and you stop at the unit. Rust has worked its way along the base, a thin orange line where the metal meets the ground. It wasn't there last spring. The fan sounds fine when the unit kicks on, air moving the way it should, but you crouch down and run a thumb along the rust anyway. Fourteen winters of Illinois cold have gone through this thing, nights when it ran half the day just to keep up. You think about the compressor inside, working through all that, and you wonder how many more winters it has before rust along the base turns into something you can hear.