bum of the month

foul mood. pouring rain. walked to the bridge, no umbrella. fuckit.

This was a mistake, in retrospect. It was really raining hard, and the elevated expressway that I planned to walk under was unwalkable, because it was planted with bushes. Consequently, it took thirty minutes for the griptape to dry enough to skate. I said what were probably very unfriendly hellos to the homies trying to skate the 3 m wide dry line under the bridge, and threw down right before the lights went out. I was so sore from the elbow slam the night before that I wasn't expecting anything more than an exercise/ sweat-out-the-toxins session. Considering that, it was a good session.

It stopped raining, but the humidity stayed. The stragglers left, and hipsters, drawn by the mostly crappy graffiti, sat down on the box, literally as  I approached it. I asked them to leave, and they did, after a little grumbling. I was glad when an unknown brother in arms ollied into a trick at full speed, inches away from them during the instant they were standing up. That finished convincing them, and I never saw them again. The box has light metal coping on it, and when your trucks hit it, it makes a sound like a gunshot. Some of the more cowardly hispsters jumped. Also, this unknown soldier landed his trick, in the dark, hauling ass, with only me and hipsters as witnesses. Sometimes, you share a moment that doesn't merit discussion, but is very satisfying for everyone involved. Thanks, unknown soldier.

I couldn't force myself to leave, so I skated the banks like they were a miniramp until my calves were aching and my heart was pounding. I noticed a sawty on a ubike come up, which isn't unusual, they like to check for leftover food and water and whatever detritus the skaters leave behind, like human seagulls. But seeing one on a bright yellow ubike is unusual, because you have to pay to use those. I think he must have stolen it, and his following behavior is why: he checked a can of tb and let out a rebel yell. He stood with his feet splayed wide apart, and raised that hot nasty can to the sky, and chugged the rest of it in one go, then smashed the empty can on the ground like dime bag darrell in 1986. Then he squatted down and started eating the juice and left over rice out of someone's mostly finished dinner, with his fingers. I got my beer money for the night out of my bag and asked him if he needs some money. He launched into a fullbody furious muscle clenching response, eyes wild and darting, and spoke so quickly that I could only understand a few words, but the gist was that yes, he likes money. I gave him some and he let out a warwhoop and jumped on his ubike, making motorcycle noises, and sped off into the wet dark wonderland. I hope he doesn't die because of me. I have more sympathy for taiwanese methheads than american ones.