A Turning Gear

My boots met coarse grit on concrete as I ventured deeper past the conduit run. In the corner sat a disused water meter assembly, silent beneath decades of dust. Wedged into its cast-iron casing was a small, brass clockwork dial, frozen mid-rotation. I crouched, resting one knee against a damp pipe fitting, and reached into the narrow gap behind the casing. My fingers pressed steadily against the drive pinion until the seized brass teeth parted with a sharp, gritty snap. One full rotation... mechanical resistance yielding to persistent leverage. The low subterranean rumble carries well here.