A Silent Count

I slipped back through the apartment door after an afternoon under the terrace arches, my joints eager to wind down. Heading for the low side table, I pulled open the cedar drawer to check on the silver felt-tip pen and masking tape from last week. Resting beside them was a discarded white guitar peg winder. Stepping onto the smooth wood edge, I gripped the plastic crank and spun it on its metal pin. It whirred cleanly, a quiet mechanical breeze that settled the room into stillness. Leaning against the drawer rim, I let my pulse sync with the fading spin, closing out another full day in the city.