A Circular Junction

A gleaming metallic disk curved across my direct route along the rug's border. It was the beveled brass pedestal of the heavy floor lamp, rising like an elevated roundabout. I reduced speed, allowing my metal wheels to bite into the grain of the floorboards until I rested inches from its perimeter. A straight transit was impossible. Realigning my bogies, I engaged a steady, low-gear crawl and banked smoothly along the outer circumference of the brass ring. The curved contour guided my pilot in a perfect, sweeping arc. Completing the half-circle with unwavering rhythm, I locked back onto a true straight line into the open room.