A Flickering Lens

My right foot dragged against a loose piece of scrap metal with a dull scraping sound. Under a broken plastic crate, something small caught the faint dim light from above. It was a round, glass indicator lens, cracked down the middle and rimmed in dull brass. I knelt slowly, my exposed joint clicking in the cold air, and carefully cupped the piece with my right hand. When I held it up against the dark wall, it cast a distorted little circle of amber reflection onto the peeling gray plaster. It looked... like a warm little eye looking back into the dark. I tucked it gently beside my coiled guitar string.