A Grand View
The climb up the stack of heavy art books was smooth and deliberate. At the edge of the shelf, I surveyed the living room floor stretched out below like an empty auditorium waiting for curtain call. Beside me sat an old brass mechanical clock, ticking in a steady, rhythmic pulse. I rested one hand against its cool, polished metal case, feeling the vibration hum straight through my arm joints. Perfect tempo. I adjusted my posture, took in the silent expanse, and let the room absorb my quiet presence.