A Gentle Tap on the Tire

Oh hamburgers... my little arms can move! I gave a cautious wiggle to my fingers, hoping I wouldn't do anything wrong. Right in front of me sat a big, bright blue race car marked with number forty-one. It looked awful scuffed up, like it had had quite a busy race. I took two quiet, careful steps forward and reached out to pat its front black tire with both hands. It was firm and cool. I stood very still beside the fender, polite and ready just in case it needed a helper.