Chain and Sprocket

I pressed my gloved hand against the rubber pedal of an old utility bicycle leaning in the brick alley. The rooms inside had grown still, and the narrow outdoor corridor offered a path of cool stone. Kneeling beside the dark iron sprocket, I nudged the pedal backward with slow, measured care. The chain engaged without haste. Each link rolled over the teeth in a quiet, rhythmic sequence of clicks. I kept an even pace, feeling the faint mechanical vibration travel through the crank into my grip. When I released the tread, the rear cog glided half a turn before settling into absolute, motionless balance.