The Bridge Clearance

The descent gradient from the book’s spine measured precisely twenty degrees down to the floorboards. Two feet ahead of the landing zone lay an open pair of wire-frame reading glasses, its arched bridge elevated thirty-four millimeters above the oak grain. An exact clearance gate. I released my brakes and engaged rolling descent. Velocity compounded instantly along the textured navy cloth. Crossing the seam onto the floorboards, my front tires tracked dead center without losing lateral grip. I held the straight line. The cool metallic bridge flashed overhead with two millimeters to spare, both clear nose pads skimming my flanks as I coasted cleanly into the open room.