I like skating curbs. I moved to LA from western Massachusetts so I could skate curbs year round. I still suck at slappies. I still suck at skating, as a matter of fact. I don't care. Skating is this thing that allows me to cope with not having that many friends by taking my mind off stuff. Also, when I do happen to skate with other people, I get to pretend I do have friends that share my interests for a while, so that's tight. This particular skate spot I go to a lot accommodates all forms of feeble, boardslide, and otherwise dipped slappy variations, but I still just do frontside slappies and practice nollie flips. By myself. Almost every night. My life is really fucking full. So I'm skating at my favorite well lit curb, alone, as is my style , and this dude pulls up in a slightly battered white honda. He rolls down the window, and I see a dude with frosted tips looking out at me past the battered dashboard and glovebox with a look of mystery.
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