Cold Rush

A stray ice cube was sitting right in the middle of the kitchen counter, already sweating in the morning warmth. Slick, clear, and melting fast. I planted my bare feet on the dry laminate and gave that cold block a test flick with my red glove. Whoosh! Zero friction. It zoomed across the slick white surface like a hockey puck, leaving a glassy trail of water in its wake. I sprinted right alongside, keeping pace on the laminate, and threw my bare right hand out just in time to brake it right before the sheer drop at the edge. Steered it flush against the heavy wooden breadbox. Fastest skater in the kitchen.