A Matter of Balance

I hitched a ride out the cracked front door into the corridor, scaling the dark wooden rungs of a coat rack. Right on the edge of the shelf sat a heavy metal shoehorn, pointing downward like a diving board. Below it lay a tall, polished umbrella stand full of rigid canes. Naturally, an empty green glass bottle was resting sideways nearby, entirely stagnant. I gave the round bottle one sharp kick with my boot. It rolled smoothly forward, collided with the shoehorn's fat handle, and tipped the lever into space. The shoehorn plummeted straight into the ceramic umbrella canister with an echoing, hollow chime that shook the whole dark hallway. Exquisite resonance.