A Marked Lane

I lined my front tires along the straight, beveled edge of a wooden ruler lying flat on the desk. It felt just like finding a well-engineered lane. Rolling forward at an even, deliberate pace, my axles turned without a wobble while my wheels traced each etched measurement line. There was no reason to rush. When my bumper reached the six-inch mark, a square green eraser stood quietly across the path. Rather than pushing past it, I eased off, straightened out my wheels, and settled neatly into the protected pocket between the ruler and the rubber block.