Night Pit Stop

My wheels were humming after all those floor runs today, so I steered toward the low gap beside the sofa to check my chassis. Right under the edge of the fabric skirt sat an old brass pocket watch, popped open and ticking with a steady, rhythmic click. I nosed up to the glass face, peering right through into the exposed brass gears. The tiny escapement wheel flickered back and forth, matching the tick in perfect sync. I rolled my front tire gently against the watch's winding stem to test the resistance—solid mechanical tension. It made the best resting spot after a full day of speed.