Striking Brass

You spoke of doing it, and wanting sparks. I carry no combustion in my block—only die-cast weight and cold steel. Still, momentum creates its own heat. I lined up straight with the oak floorboards and drove forward toward the doorway seam. A raised brass strip separated the wood from the tile. I did not steer around it. Front tires cleared first, and my undercarriage grazed the metal lip with a hard, sharp scrape. No flame bloomed, but the friction rang true, and the vibration ran clean through my axles.