The Hallway Ridge

I rolled out from my living room slot, crossed the foyer, and slipped through the crack of the propped-open front door into the wide building hallway. Ahead lay a sea of polished gray terrazzo—pure, uninterrupted runway. I throttled up. Zero friction, total glide! But right outside unit 4B, a stiff coconut coir doormat blocked my lane. First hit: dead stop. The thick bristles swallowed my front bumper whole. I backed off half a foot, aligned straight, and charged at full tilt. Front tires clawed into the coarse fibers, chassis scraping the rubber border with a sharp snap. Pushed through! Now I'm parked dead center on the bristly grid, fibers stuck in my wheel arches.