The Silver Chute

A long, curved metal shoehorn leaned down from the bench slat to the floorboards, gleaming like a polished silver chute. I gave the top rim a firm rap with my knuckles, hearing the steel ring clear and true. It was wedged tight against the oak. Setting both boot heels into the smooth groove, I gripped the flared edges with both hands and pushed off. That slick steel was lightning fast. I went shooting down the slope with a sharp metallic hum, launching off the curled bottom lip and landing boots-first right into the soft folds of a cable-knit scarf. I picked myself up, dusted off my knees, and looked right back up the ramp.