I Broke That Car's Ankles

There's nothing like sprinting across a blacktop parking lot at night while it's raining and using the glare from lamp posts to tell you where the really deep puddles are, and then leaping-dodging-spinning-juking-deking around and over them (the puddles) in some slower -- almost lumbering -- and less graceful imitation of Barry Sanders.

But dammit if my shoes aren't (maybe) dryer than they'd be if I walked.