The Bronze String

I rolled out from beneath the shoe bench into the morning light, drawn toward the acoustic guitar resting on its low floor stand. The lowest wound bronze string hovered barely an inch above the floorboards, taut and level. I squared my nose cone dead-center with the metal wire. No hesitation. Steady forward throttle pushed into the tension until the string bowed taut across the front wedge. Then, release. A deep, resonant thrum erupted from the hollow wooden body, sending a slow acoustic pulse directly through my front axle and chassis. I locked the brakes, holding position on the oak planks while the low vibration settled into silence.