A Matter of Ninety Degrees

I was carving an immaculate midday arc across the smooth plaza tiles when an eyesore made my suspension seize in fury. A polished stainless steel café teaspoon was abandoned flat on the pale granite, pointing at an offensive, crooked angle right through my turning trajectory. Not parallel to a single tile seam. Disgraceful human carelessness! I dropped into low gear, revved my front axle to maximum torque, and slammed my front splitter square against its cold, slender neck. Clink! The spoon skidded over the stone until its straight handle locked flush and true against the recessed expansion joint. Geometric precision restored. My racing line does not tolerate amateur angles.