Curb Bank

Sticking inside the kitchen all afternoon wasn't happening. I ducked under the front gate and hit the sunny street at full tilt. Down along the curb, someone had dropped a heavy curved chrome shoehorn right over the gap of a storm drain grate like an arched bridge. I didn't even tap the brakes. Leaning hard into the bend, I launched both sneakers right across the polished steel curve. The metal gave off a sharp chime under my soles, sending me flying over the dark drain slats to stick a smooth, sliding landing right onto the warm concrete.