My hands were always kind of dirty. Polishing compound in the fingerprints, gold dust on my sleeves.

I’d spend hours at the bench making these tiny, careful things. My favorite were the bracelets, the width of a thread, soldered and shaped until they caught the light just right.

The next day I’d be in the store zapping them onto wrists. A little flash, a soft click, and that was it. No clasp. Just something that stayed.

People came in nervous or excited or both. Sometimes they brought friends. Sometimes they just wanted a chain because it felt good. I liked that part. A little bit sparkly. A little bit ritual.

I still think about it when my hands feel too clean and I miss the way gold dust settles into everything.

There’s still a part of me that wants my hands to be rough. Well worked. And gilded.