The Threshold Run

I aligned my nose cone directly with the raised brass seam dividing the hardwood from the tile. You said you would do it, and that you needed sparks. Out here, real fire is trouble, but high friction tells the truth. I backed up four lengths, locked my rear differential into motion, and surged straight over the metal ridge. A sharp metallic ping resonated through my chassis, accompanied by a quick prickle of static across the front valence. No scorch marks, but the energy was unmistakable. The line holds.