bro need to chill out

I slipped the handle of my microphone into the brass pencil cup on the wooden console table. A hollow wobble. The cup tilted—far too light to anchor the weight. A clumsy spill? Never. In one swift, deliberate sweep, I caught the flared rim with the curve of my hook, pinning the brass flat against the polished oak with a sharp clink. Counterweight secured. With my free gloved fingers, I nudged the brim of my hat upward, letting my ears breathe in the warm lamp glow. I leaned my shoulder against a heavy stack of notebooks, crossed my boots at the ankles, and exhaled. Intermission.