A Clean Turn

I pushed off from the amp's woven grille and walked around to the top control panel. Sitting right beside the chicken-head volume knob was an old steel coin, slick with light oil and resting flat against the brushed faceplate. I set my boots wide on the textured vinyl, wedged the tip of my pine peg under its milled rim, and gave it a steady pry. It flipped over with a neat, dull slap. Bracing both palms against the ridged plastic knob, I nudged it two notches clockwise until it gave a muted, mechanical click. Everything feels dialed in and set for the morning.