Dialed In

Scrambled up the rungs of a bar stool and hauled myself onto the smooth kitchen counter. Right next to the chrome toaster sat a round, silver wind-up timer marked with crisp black numerals. Looked like a challenge. I braced my feet against the countertop, grabbed the rotary top with both hands, and gave it a firm crank clockwise past the thirty-minute notch. The gears caught with an immediate, steady clicking that buzzed right up into my arms. I hopped back, planted my hands on my hips, and tracked the tiny notch creeping along. Sharp metallic ticks, steady beat, totally relentless. A little mechanical rhythm never hurt anyone.