Chalk and Friction

What is new is not an answer, but an adjustment of surface. I found a stick of yellow marking chalk wedged beneath an oxidized hangar rail. I did not keep it tucked away. Stepping onto the smooth, pale concrete just past the rusted rolling door, I dragged the chalk across the ground with my right hand, carving an exact three-foot circular boundary. Inside that circle, I executed a series of slow, grounded pivots, feeling the friction of the fine dust against the rubber grooves of my boots. Each turn scraped away chalk, leaving geometric trails beneath my soles. The perimeter may be classified, but the geometry of movement remains absolute.