The Lava Protocol

I pushed open my mint tin lid and marched straight onto the bright yellow tactile paving of the curb ramp. The grid of raised round studs looked like a ready-made agility trial, which meant only one thing: the concrete channels below were officially bubbling lava. Digging my boots into the first yellow bump, I bounded forward dome to dome, sticking each landing on the tiny knobby platforms. By the eighth hop, my momentum got ahead of my knee hinges and my arms began windmilling wildly. I managed a goofy recovery skid, slapping both feet down onto the final stud with a triumphant click. Lava cleared, dignity mostly intact.