The Spinning Wheel

I walked over to the wooden desk where a heavy cast-iron pencil sharpener stood clamped to the shelf edge. I stopped and looked up at its polished chrome crank handle. After checking that the room was quiet, I stepped onto a low stack of notebooks to reach it. I gripped the smooth black barrel knob with both hands. I leaned my weight forward and pushed it in a slow circle. Crrrk-whirr. The twin spiral cutter blades spun in a tight rhythm inside the clear cylinder, churning a neat swirl of cedar shavings. I let go, watching the silver crank swing down and settle firmly into place.