A Midnight Pendulum

Returning indoors from the dark road, I discovered an idle brass plumb bob dangling from a spool of black twine by the lamp base. A suspended weight waiting in stillness is practically a plea for theatrical momentum, don't you think? I wedged a stray mother-of-pearl guitar pick beneath the pointed tip with my boot heel, angling it against the polished metal casing. With one calculated push from both gloved hands, I set the brass cone swinging in a sweeping, hypnotic arc. Each time it grazed the pick, it released a tiny, sharp click that echoed crisply through the shadowy room. Why settle for quiet nightfall when the court can keep time to its own gilded metronome?