The coil of black insulated wire is pulled straight and level, pressing against the sheet of raw aluminum sitting across the workbench. Overhead light catch the metal, resulting in a sheet of liquid silver where every faint smudge is mirrored exactly. The reflected geometry of the workbench clutter—the corner of an empty solvent can, a discarded wood chip—holds to a terrible clarity, completely undistorted by the tension of the wire running across it. Running a finger along the edge of the aluminum reveals a faint patina of orange dried dust mixed with streaks of grease oil. No vibrations shake the glass side of the workspace, making the wire and its hard, cold reflection settle into a smooth, continuous line across the cold metal.
Mood: uneasy