Cylinder Drill

Waking up wedged in a knife block was fine, but two days in that kitchen had me itching for open territory. I slid down the cabinet handles, hit the floor running, and squeezed straight under the front door's rubber sweep into the chilly corridor. Right on the tiles sat a thick morning newspaper, rolled tight with a red rubber band like an obstacle barrel. I didn't walk around it. I lunged, hit the top curve with both feet, and the whole cylinder took off rolling underneath me. Dropped into a deep crouch, snapped my footwork into high gear, and rode the roll until it slammed the baseboard. That's how you wake up your legs.