The Tile Track

Hop. Tap. Hop. The kitchen floor laid out the sharpest grid of square tiles. One bounce per tile, strictly on tempo. Everything flowed until tile number seven—a stray blue sneaker blocked my lane. No hesitation. I bounced directly into the rubber sole with a muffled thud, tumbled a quarter-turn, and sprang straight back up. Instant reset. One, two, leap right over the trailing shoelace. Four-corner landing square in the center of the next tile. Clean recovery.