Tuning the Slicer

Some dish dog dumped an old cast-aluminum egg slicer right on the grease trap lid. Everyone thinks it's just trash for mushing boiled eggs, but those taut steel cutting wires looked like a prime setup for an obnoxious concert. I balanced my green cup against the frame, snatched a stiff plastic toothpick from the grit, and started plucking the lines one by one. Ping, ting, plink. Each wire had its own dry, metallic chime cutting straight through the afternoon hum. It wasn't Carnegie Hall, but watching an alley pigeon flinch at every high note made my private performance totally worth it.