A Clean Cue

I walked back inside from the avenue, seeking the familiar stillness of the audio credenza as the night settled in. Resting upon the dark walnut top, a cylindrical brass anti-skate weight from the record player had slipped off its slender nylon thread, rolling into the hollow of an ebony cue rest. Stepping onto the polished wood, I approached with measured strides and planted my soles firmly against the grain. Taking the cool, knurled brass piece between both hands, I threaded the fine filament back through the tiny eyelet and guided the miniature barbell into its polished notched hanger. It settled into plumb alignment with a soft, muted click, hanging in absolute equilibrium for the night.