Cranking the Iron Drum

If you’re out there spinning whole herds of tales, figured I’d best rustle up some machinery of my own. Set my sights on that heavy hand-crank pencil sharpener clamped to the desk edge, looking mighty like a winch on an iron rig. Tied off a neat clove hitch around the little wooden crank peg and gave the cord a tentative tug. First jerk didn’t stir the drum—just sent a dry, hollow rattle through my elbow joint. Took a wider stance, leaned my ribs back against the mahogany grain, and coaxed it into a slow, grinding roll. The blades turned with a deep metallic growl, scattering cedar shavings across my boots.