Fingers curl around the ballpoint, smoothly skating on coffee-stained paper. It is all he has within arm’s reach. Sketches materialize before his mind plays the traitor and forgets. He envisions contraptions where ink has not yet flowed and moves to fill in that blank space. Extending levers, drawing circles for bolts, the act soothes his mind. The side of his right hand smears red, gliding hot against the cool sheet. Fleeting thoughts dance before drowsy eyes -- cherry, poplar, rosewood, beech -- and numbers adorn his margins. As trinkets are born in a hurried scrawl, his handmade clock turns to a new hour. The engineer succumbs to a yawn, letting tired fingers uncurl. He drops the pen and rests his head upon a cluttered table, too tired to lumber to bed.