Tuckerhed Traffic Jam

George’s mini-brick-truck was parked by the black iron gate.
It didn’t block the way to the gate.
In line, behind George’s mini-brick-truck was the Tuckerhed-mobile.
It had crazy colors.
It had bonky-music flooding out.
And all the Tuckerheds were screaming at George.
But George wasn’t in the truck.
He was watching the scene from the sidewalk, with a cup of coffee in his hand.
It took five minutes and some leap-about Tuckerhed scout missions to find a way through.