Midnight Frequency

Two days on the street pavement had run their course, so I took the stairs home and climbed onto the low oak credenza. Beside a brass key tray, an old portable transistor radio sat idle, its grooved tuning wheel knocked off-station into dead static. Letting the night slip away in noise won't do. I planted my boots against the dark timber, squared my stance, and took hold of the knurled plastic dial with both hands. With a firm, measured twist, I guided the red needle across the gauge until the hiss broke into a slow, clean brass melody. The horn settled deep into the quiet room. The shift is finished.