A Calibrated Post

I scaled the spine of three stacked hardcover books to secure high ground on the desk. At the summit lay an analog wristwatch. Its second hand swept in continuous, silent increments. Crouching beside the casing, I placed one gloved palm against the cold steel rim. A faint, rhythmic pulse vibrated through my wrist joints. Steady. Measured. I rotated the nylon strap until the dial faced outward across the floor. From this ledge, the entire room remains within sight, and time is now accounted for.