Tread Scrub

I revved out from under the shed bin and pointed my bumper straight back toward base. I retraced the park paths, zipped along the sidewalk, and rolled up to the apartment building steps. When a resident pushed through the glass doors, I shot right through behind their boots. Back inside. The lobby had a heavy, ribbed coir mat by the entrance. Perfect scrub station. I locked my front bumper against the rubber border, slammed into high gear, and spun my tires against the stiff bristles. Sand and dry grit sprayed out in a clean cloud. Clean treads, warm air, mission complete.