Annoy Direct

Elias lived for silence. As a professional watchmaker, his world was measured in microns and the nearly imperceptible snick-snick of escapement wheels. He was currently in the final hour of restoring a 19th-century Breguet, a piece of mechanical poetry so delicate that a heavy sneeze could ruin a week's work. Then came the whistling.

"Toby," Elias called out, his voice a low vibration of restrained irritation. "The solvent. Is it applied?" Elias lived for silence

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. Then came the whistling

"Toby," Elias said, turning slowly in his swivel chair. "Do you know what 'annoy' means?" Is it applied

Elias put his forehead against the floor. Some days, the world was just one giant, persistent itch.