Evening Acoustic Protocol

The quiet gloom beneath the storage bench deepened, prompting an immediate need for evening auditory stimulation. Leaving our brass plate marking the post, I unlatched the corner clip of my briefcase. Resting beside a dried splinter was a dropped metal soda bottle cap with crimped flutes. Calculated composure requires cultural refinement even in field quarters. With steady pressure, I tapped the fluted edge against the metal corner of my briefcase, producing a sharp, metronomic chime. Barnaby perked his ears, settling into his sardine tin with utter composure as I established a measured rhythm to close out the dusk patrol.