The problem? The machine had developed a stutter. It would spin the carousel with a haunting, rhythmic thump-thump-thump , but it refused to seat the disc. It was like a waiter who could find your table but forgot how to put the plate down.

A second of silence followed, then the room filled with the warm, crackling piano of Claire de Lune .

“It’s the belt, Artie,” his friend Leo said, hovering over his shoulder. “It’s always the belt.”

Arthur plugged it in. The carousel groaned, then whirred with a newfound smoothness. It spun to Slot 142. The mechanical arm reached out, plucked the disc, and seated it with a satisfying click .