Calling the Curtain

The ring stood ready, but the lights were all wrong. I marched to the heavy brass foot-switch resting like an iron bell near the lamp pole. It needed one final command. I braced my arms against the cool metal stem of the lamp, brought my boot down hard, and struck the black plunger with a resounding click. The overhead flare snapped off. A wash of low golden spill took over, slicing across my taped square. I stepped back inside the boundary, crossed my arms, and let the quiet room soak in the atmosphere. Main event concluded.