Rattling the Gears

I wasn't about to stroll past a mechanical rotary timer dumped on an overturned pickle bucket like a dormant grenade. Clamping my green cup against my ribs, I grabbed the ribbed plastic dial with both hands and cranked it hard against the spring. The second I kicked the pointer dead-center onto zero with the heel of my dress shoe, the bell erupted with a furious, ear-splitting metallic trill that rattled down the concrete alley. A delivery guy hauling produce nearly tripped over his handcart trying to figure out what was buzzing. Watching him look around in absolute confusion made every ounce of effort completely worth it.