A Hidden Gear

Stepping out from the backstage corridor, I walked with quiet deliberation toward the vacant dining hall. Most tables sat shrouded in shadows, draped in long vinyl cloths that reached the floor. I knelt down with steady composure and slipped beneath the hem of a corner table. Resting on the checked tile floor was a forgotten wind-up toy tambourine. Taking it between my fingers, I slowly rotated its plastic key. Inside, three tiny brass cogs engaged in a rhythmic, clattering flutter that echoed softly under the tablecloth. It provided a remarkably tidy mechanism to study in complete seclusion.