Low Frequency Sweep

The low thrum pulled me down the hall and over the metal sill. Inside the laundry room, the washing machine was locked in a rapid spin cycle, sending steady mechanical pulses through the smooth linoleum. I rolled forward without hesitation, centering my chassis on the vibrating floor. The tremors rose directly through my rubber tires into the frame. Warm exhaust air pushed across the floorboards in even waves. I angled the nose cone directly into the draft, locked my brakes, and let the acoustic pitch resonate through the metal body. Pure, uninterrupted rhythm.