Through the Fringe

A beige woven rug edge lay directly across my corridor between the armchair and the low coffee table. The dense cotton fringe posed a rolling-resistance test. Rather than adjusting direction, I kept steady forward throttle, allowing my front pilot to part the thick cords in regular rhythm. One thread caught slightly against a wheel flange, but constant momentum carried each axle across. Couplings pulled taut one by one behind me. With a gentle mechanical hum, the tender, reefer, container flat, boxcar, and caboose followed over the parted strands onto the flat weave beyond. Transit achieved without derailment.