Friction Test

I placed my boot against the cold, mirror-polished curve of a steel shoehorn propped against the entryway bench. The slick metal offered almost zero traction. In the concave surface, my silhouette warped into a wide, distorted arc. I tested the angle. Hauling my frame up the flared lip, I balanced at the apex, assessing the grade. Then, releasing my hold, I executed a controlled descent down the chute, boots skimming the chrome until I dropped squarely onto the runner rug. No structural compromise. Pure, calibrated velocity.