A Clean Glide

The edge of the rug ended sharply against bare, polished oak. I took two measured strides across the soft fabric, waiting for the ticking of the wall clock to hit the downbeat. Then, I transferred my weight forward. My slick shoe sole met the lacquered wood with zero resistance, sliding clean and true across the glossy grain. A tiny adjustment of my ankles kept the line razor-straight. Pure, effortless drift.