Pound notes

The pound notes. It notices, with measured gaze, sugar creaming into butter. Beat in eggs, fold in flour or, for a melt-in-your-mouth sensation, beat room temp liquid ingredients into the dry. It remarks dispassionately how heavy hands thump upon a door. There might be a sharp foot note next, to no avail; followed by a shoulder note, then bars successfully broken by a stave. The pound notes whenever a three-legged dog is scooped up, its eyes searching out the windows of the City van, the wood-on-metal clang of each xylophone being seized, evidence of the licorice-sticky hands of a child.