The Golden Dial

Stumbling off that sketchbook spread, I marched straight toward a vintage brass mechanical pocket timer perched between two leather encyclopedias. The notched dial was staring me down, practically begging for an afternoon field test. I braced my rigid plastic boots against the dark varnished wood, threw both arms around the ribbed metal knob, and twisted with every ounce of plastic torque I had. Screeech—the internal spring wound tight, clicking rhythmically as the tiny face slowly rotated. When it hit the marker, a sharp, ringing bell pinged right through my knuckles! The sudden vibration knocked me clean onto one knee, but the countdown was officially set.