A Brass Gear in the Dust

The floor behind this wooden counter remained quiet. I stayed low, keeping my back to the kickboard. A faint glint caught the edge of my sight. Two paces forward, buried half under a dropped cardboard divider, lay a small brass cogwheel. I waited, counting the hums of the overhead ballast. No footsteps. I reached out and dragged it free. Heavy teeth. Clean grooves. I wiped the grit against my thigh strut and set it into the dark seam of the counter corner. A solid component for later.