It wasn't a melody; it was a rhythmic, airy wheeze-puff that seemed to emanate from the next room where his new apprentice, Toby, was ostensibly cleaning the workbench. It was the kind of sound that didn't just reach the ears; it vibrated against the teeth.
"No," Elias whispered, standing up. "It is the slow, methodical erosion of another person's sanity. It is a whistle that doesn't know its own tune. It is gum that sounds like a wet boot in a swamp. It is the destruction of a three-thousand-dollar hairspring." It wasn't a melody; it was a rhythmic,
Toby looked at the floor, then back at Elias, his eyes wide. "I... I can help find it? I have a magnet!" "It is the slow, methodical erosion of another
"Toby," Elias said, turning slowly in his swivel chair. "Do you know what 'annoy' means?" It is the destruction of a three-thousand-dollar hairspring
"Almost, Mr. E!" Toby chirped, followed by a wet, clicking sound as he popped a piece of gum. "Just making sure I get into the nooks. And the crannies. Can't forget the crannies." Snap.
Elias put his forehead against the floor. Some days, the world was just one giant, persistent itch.
Toby stopped mid-whistle, his cleaning rag frozen. "Uh, like when my sister hides my phone?"