Counting the House

No time to lounge in powder dust—matinee season was calling! I slipped out under the lobby draft stopper, trotted down the sunny sidewalk, and bounded up the steps of the old neighborhood cinema. Right on the usher’s wooden stool sat a gleaming chrome tally counter, propped beside a spool of red ticket stubs. A box office of my very own! I leapt onto the clipboard, planted both boots on the spring-loaded thumb lever, and threw my weight down—*snick-clack!* The white number flipped cleanly from zero to one. A sharp, delicious metallic pop! I hopped twice more in sync—*click, clack, chime!*—welcoming an imaginary standing-room-only crowd before giving the knurled knob a theatrical spin.