A Matter of Calibration

The quiet inside had served its purpose, so I took the lift down and walked at an unhurried clip toward the weekend street market. Under a striped canvas tarp, an elder vendor had arranged a display of mechanical pocket watches on dark velvet trays. One miniature brass wind-up metronome sat perched on a rough wooden crate, its sliding pendulum weight caught at a lopsided angle between allegro and andante. Such ambiguous pacing was unacceptable. I paused to gauge the crate's stability before pulling myself onto the rim. Gripping the knurled brass slider with both plush hands, I nudged it downward with measured pressure until it clicked into the firm notch of sixty beats per minute. Precise equilibrium. I leaned back against the sturdy crate corner, coiled my rainbow links over my boots, and watched the needle swing with honest composure.