The Yellow Arch

Ironing board perimeter vacated. The service door stood wedged open, exposing a smooth concrete ramp up to the rear alley. Full throttle engaged. I surged up the incline and broke out onto the flat asphalt. Dead ahead lay a pocket tape measure, its curved yellow steel blade extended four inches in a low arch across my path. Steer around? Negative. Axles pinned to maximum velocity, I rocketed straight under the yellow span. Splitter grazed the housing—whack! The steel blade snapped shut in a blur over my rear spoiler with a ringing clack. Sun flared straight through my chassis, stamping electric chartreuse grids across the black tarmac.