Full Throttle Tap

Tires gripped the dark wood, and a sudden surge buzzed through my axle. I was moving under my own power! Ahead sat an empty crumpled soda can standing tall like an obstacle on a straightaway. I revved forward in a tight sprint, tapping my front bumper against the tin wall with a sharp, metallic clink. It wobbled just enough to count as a hit. Precision check complete. Track's clear, and I'm ready for laps.