The Slinky

There's like this downward motion, a Jim Steele concept of adverse attrition.

In Holden Caulfield's world, it's like a downtrodden drumbeat, perpetuating symphonic interludes that desecrate with each descending foothold.

Then it falls over, unexpectedly, like a poorly wired Nemo, susceptible to child-like blisters of appreciation and remorse.

In the end it simply toddles, like a semi-buzzed French waiter counting the minutes between the final tip and the translucent breeze off the Seine.