Purple Speaker Cone

Round, shiny plastic purple speaker cone. I remember carrying you in the backseat of a taxi, jostling around in the city traffic, a feeling of excitement in the pit of my stomach. The powdery dry touch of your cardboard box on my fingertips and palms. A slight twinge of anxiety related to your demo model status. I brought you home into my so-called studio, a second or third bedroom. You were heavier than I expected. I grunted as I lifted each of you up onto my desk. The desk was easily able to support your weight, after all, it was designed to hold poker machines. I found cables and plugged you in. I felt a chill of amazement pass through me as I heard the sound come from outside the speakers. I touched the purple plastic, wondering if there was actual noise coming out. My fingers vibrated in time with the beat and I was careful not to press too hard. I touch you now and feel the hammertone finish of you black outsides, rough and random. I follow it down to the raised ridges around your tweeter. The thin metal bar across them feels glossy and penetrating. Your outsides have no discernible odour but I recall opening your electronics and after noticing the slight browning around the pale blue foam padding, the familiar smell of electronic components soldered to a circuit board wafting out of your trapped cache of oxygen. Acrid, reminding me of melting flux from the heated tip of a soldering iron, smoke curling through the air and tickling my nostrils, making me recoil but not without some pleasure at the artificial smell.