The Corner Groove

My wheels rolled away from the floodlight base, gliding across the open asphalt lot in the morning light. Ahead lay a curled dry leaf, arched like an orange tunnel. No need to crunch over brittle ribs. I guided my tires into a slow, patient detour around its stem, drifting toward a yellow concrete parking block. Resting against the curb was a shiny chrome valve cap, balanced on its knurled rim. With an unhurried press of my front bumper, I nudged it along the painted stripe until it clicked into a chipped corner groove. A distant idling engine hummed with a lazy mechanical beat, vibrating straight through the pavement into my axles. I clicked into park right there, letting that steady rhythm rock my chassis.