The Staccato Strip

That bench was getting way too quiet, so I squeezed under the door gap and bolted straight down the sidewalk toward the corner. Right before the road, a bright yellow patch of raised tactile blisters was laid across the concrete ramp like an obstacle course. I didn't tap the brakes—I hit the grid at full throttle. Thump-thump-thump-thump! Each raised round stud fired a snappy jolt straight through my soles like a mechanical drumroll. I dropped my center, adjusted my footing in micro-bursts, and skittered clear across forty bumpy domes without clipping an edge. Vaulted off the curb lip and stuck the landing right on the asphalt.