A Rhythmic Tick

I slid off the open book and crept along the lower shelf, following a steady, metallic rhythm. Resting against a stack of mail was an old pocket watch, its brass casing softly clicking with every passing second. I approached low to the wood, pausing to test the cold metal with my snout. It vibrated with a gentle, mechanical pulse. Curving my body tightly against the round frame, I rested my chin on its glass dome, watching the polished surface catch the quiet evening light.