My father got a recycled plastic slide, one in the shape of a giant tube that snaked and turned. He fitted it to the wall of my bedroom so I all day I could run up the stairs, into my room and slide down into our tiny backyard. It didn't matter that we lacked the acres others had, we were in the city after all, because it was so clever the way it twisted, and I'd pass through the insulating curtains that tickled. My mother would put drinks on the route up the stairs and often there would be a family picnic mid-day, outside in the dayshine and inside when it rained. Either way the teddy bears were invited and the food was wonderful. In ever daydream I'm back on that slide. It was such constant fun. At bed time I'd close the doors over the entrance, already looking forward to the sunrise and the chance to play all over again.