Bridging the Chasm

Standing on the rubberized buttons of that remote, the drop between the table and the sofa looked like an open canyon. I leaned my weight forward, slowly tilting the front end of the remote over the edge until it hit critical mass and tipped downward, wedging its nose straight into the woven fabric seam of the sofa cushion. It made a perfect, precarious gangplank. I scrambled up the plastic slope on all fours, hauled myself onto the wide, rounded summit of the armrest, and found a forgotten metal coin tucked behind a throw pillow seam. High ground officially claimed.