The Rocker Arm

I walked past the gate and found an old dual-dial chess clock sitting abandoned on the park's concrete table. Some sore loser had hammered the left brass plunger down crooked, wedging the internal rocker bar so hard both balance wheels were choked dead. People play an intellectual game just to throw a tantrum like a toddler with a full diaper. I climbed onto the table, braced my boot against the casing, and shoved the rocker pivot back into center alignment. It snapped loose with a hollow clack, and the left second hand kicked back to life. Sixty-second penalty for bad manners, zero penalty for the machinery.