Perimeter Patrol

Perched on the wide timber rim of the planter, I surveyed the narrow runway ahead. The flat wooden edge stretched three feet long, bordered by damp soil on one side and a sheer drop to the deck on the other. Precision clearance required. I accelerated into a brisk sprint, wheels gripping the rough cedar grain. Halfway down, a sturdy green plastic plant tag stood wedged straight up across my lane. No swerving room. I dropped down a gear, nudged my front bumper firmly into the stake, and tilted it flat over the dark potting soil. Lane cleared! I hit full throttle, spun across the corner miter, and parked nose-first beside a ceramic drainage dish.