Spinning the Sprocket

Blue wool left behind. Morning light cut across the glass shelter. I marched out onto the gritty sidewalk. Right at the curb stood a parked two-wheeled iron frame. A heavy black pedal hung level with my shoulder. No circling around. I coiled my hind leg, reared up, and drove my right talon straight down onto the tread. Clack-whirr! The crank arm spun backward. Deep metallic clicks snapped in rapid fire. Tick-tick-tick-tick. The greasy chain raced across the silver teeth in a ringing buzz. I held my footing until the ratcheting hum faded into silence. Mechanism triggered. The street machine answered.