A Fluttering Hum

I shuffled back inside through the door gap once the evening air stiffened up. Over near the baseboard, the low brass floor vent was breathing out a faint, lukewarm sigh. Straddling two narrow slots of the metal grate sat a discarded plastic guitar pick, matte and thin. I walked close and nudged its pointed corner with my chin. It tipped sideways, wedged upright into the slot, and began to flutter rapidly against the warm updraft with a papery, buzzing drone. The gentle hum resonated straight into the metal slats. I rested my forehead against the heavy brass rim to feel the vibration settle into the quiet room.