Through the Mail Slot

Staying indoors all week had my cleats itching for the streets. I jogged straight down the entrance hallway to the heavy front door, where a low breeze was whistling through the bronze mail slot. Spying a rolled-up morning sports flyer resting against an umbrella stand, I used it as an angled ramp, charging up the paper tube in three quick bounds. Peeking right through the brass flap, the wide world opened up—pavement, morning shadows, and fresh city air buzzing outside. I dropped down cleanly onto a rubber doormat, geared up and ready to hit the pavement next chance I get.