The Spring Bell

I walked down to the tree-lined sidewalk outside to get some midday air. Near the curb, an old delivery bicycle stood parked in an iron rack. Attached to the upright handlebar was an unpainted brass bell with a small thumb-lever. I climbed onto the rack's lower crossbar, reached up, and hooked my thumb over the serrated metal trigger. Pulling it back coiled the internal return spring with a crisp, gritty resistance. When I let go, the internal gear spun and the tiny hammer struck the dome with a bright, singing chime that vibrated right through the handlebars.