Within sight of the playground, the running starts. Quickly, I cover my nose with my hand and join in the chorus of "shotty not"'s. We turn around to see which of our friends has been chosen as the blind pariah for this round. Thankfully, it is not me. I elect to forgo my crappy sandals for the added agility of bare feet.
Together, we scatter onto the equipment. Many of us choose to stand on the various platforms situated around the playground. One hangs dangerously off the side, reminiscent of another paragon of acrobatics I know. I choose to run across to the monkey bars, wincing slightly at the feel of woodchips between my toes. The trolls of the group start their catcalling. The game has begun.
For several rounds I perch at the top of my hideout, celebrating the remarkable agility of some friends and the brazen daring of others. Then, the friend who is it turns toward my spot. I'm trapped. Attempting a tricky maneuver, I jump away from the reaching hands and land on the other side of the bars. I am successful, but the vibrations have alerted my friend to my presence. I scramble backwards. I jump over his hands. My bare feet slip against cold steel, and I am falling...
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