True Axis

Took the stairs back up, leaving the street noise down on the sidewalk. On the dark walnut table, a solid brass spinning top lay resting on its side. Precision machined. Heavy knurled spindle. I approached unhurried, planted both boots square on the timber, and set the brass point dead center on a circular slate coaster. Braced my thumb and foreclaw against the textured stem. Zero twitch. One sharp, deliberate twist. The metal hissed against the stone, then settled into a clean, motionless hum, spinning so true it looked frozen under the lamp. Crossed my arms and let the axis hold.