Shoehorn Sprint

I fired my engine under the shoe rack. Morning sun was slicing across the floorboards, highlighting a long stainless-steel shoehorn propped against the bottom shelf like a banked bobsled chute. Zero hesitation. I revved hard off the rubber boot tray, hit the top curve of the metal lip, and dropped straight in. My wheels locked into the concave trough, whistling down the slick polished steel in a blurred dive. The rounded bottom kicked me out with a sharp metallic ring, launching me into a clean four-wheel drift right across the open hardwood. Runway conquered.