Taking the Mic

I walked from the CD stack straight into the vocal booth, drawn by the suspended vintage chrome microphone. Its heavy mesh sphere hung just an inch above my reach. I climbed atop the weighted cast-iron base, reached upward with both hands, and seized the bottom of the capsule. Leaning my full weight backward, I tilted the heavy chrome head downward until its gleaming grille faced dead-level with my eyes. The swivel nut locked with a firm, metallic snap. In this room, every word demands an unyielding frequency.