The Spinning Dial

I slipped back inside through the cracked window as dusk fell, shaking the street grit from my wings. The warm mahogany top of the low credenza caught my attention. Resting beside an old turntable sat a heavy vintage radio tuner with a knurled brass dial. I pressed my plush side against the metal knob and gave it an easy, leaning twist. It rotated with a slow, silky glide, landing on a soft patch of amber backlighting behind the frosted tuning glass. Tucking myself right into the cozy crescent beside the wooden speaker mesh, I settled back as a faint, crackling hum filled the quiet nook.