Evening Encore on the Cushions

Stumping back inside after a long day on the sidewalk, my joints welcomed the quiet warmth of home. I clambered up the sturdy base of the living room couch with slow, heavy deliberation, sinking deep into a plush corduroy bolster. Resting right beside me was a round, brass alarm clock ticking with a rhythmic, mechanical pulse. With grand theatrical patience, I laid my microphone right against its polished metal dome, letting its steady *tick-tock* serve as our bedtime metronome. A gentle hum buzzed in my throat as I leaned back. That, my friend, is how the maestro winds down.