Closing Bell

The shop was winding down for the night, so I made my way toward the front counter register before they locked up. Right beside the receipts sat a classic brass service bell with a polished round plunger. You can't just walk past an invitation like that. I bounded onto the wooden counter, sprinted across a row of rubber bands, and landed a flying downward palm strike right on the brass knob. Ding! The sharp, clear chime rang out across the quiet aisles like a starting pistol. Now that's what I call clocking out in style.