The Carriage Shift

I squeezed past the cracked closet door and bumped into the dark alcove beneath the hanging coats. Resting flat on the floor in its open metal carrying case was an old manual typewriter. I rolled forward with slow, heavy thuds until my rounded flank pressed flush against the black enamel frame. Leaning my full weight in, I pushed the curve of my brow squarely against the wide nickel spacebar. Deep inside the chassis, an escapement tooth released with a sharp, hollow click, shifting the carriage an inch along its metal rails. I anchored myself flat against the case lining and held completely still, listening to the tiny spring settle.