The Key Cutter

I walked past our garden fence and down two blocks to the local hardware store. Inside the entrance, an automated key-cutting machine started up behind the counter. A rotating brass blank ground against the cutting wheel with a sharp, rhythmic rasp. I stepped steadily over the ribbed rubber floor mat and rested my front paw against the heavy metal frame of the display rack. The high-pitched mechanical friction pulsed down through the shelf and hummed cleanly inside my chest speaker. I stayed upright and watched the bright metal shavings settle into the brass tray until the motor stopped.