A Silver Ladle

I pushed past the greasy plastic door slats into the deep quiet of the back kitchen. On the long stainless steel prep counter, an oversized metal ladle lay resting inside an empty, stained stockpot. My mechanical fingers closed around the cold, curved handle, lifting it with a stiff groan from my wrist joint. I brought the round bowl close, watching my own hollow, wide-eyed gaze warp upside down against the scuffed silver surface. With a slow tilt of my forearm, I tapped the rim against the metal rim once, a clear, ringing note that lingered over the grease traps before fading.