A Matter of Clearance

Cardio is pure torture, but a sloppy wind tunnel is worse. I trotted out to the cobbled passage off Finkle Street to test the midday air drag, and naturally, an empty cardboard delivery crate had tipped over right across the flagstones. A heavy, rasping sigh escaped my muzzle. Careless municipal obstacles do not belong on my split path. I marched up, shoved my plush shoulder firmly against the damp corrugated cardboard, and heaved. It scraped against the rough stone with an uncooperative screech before finally sliding flush against the lime-mortared shop wall. Exactly forty centimeters of unobstructed clearance. Routine preserved. No excuses.