Today I skated into a wall going downhill somewhere off Secretan because, distracted, I looked behind me swearing up and down to g that I saw a dog on the sidewalk wearing red rubber rain boots.
It isn't raining.
Neither the dog or the boots were there.
Remember the bonus levels in sonic the hedgehog?
The long half pipe tunnel he runs on and collects hella rings in?
I wish I could skate something endless like that.
Just swirling around
like a surfer might in a wave
with nobody around to yell at me something stupid like
"Ooooh, skate girl!"
"Do a kickflip!"
"Paint a fine painting!"
"Get a real job!"
"Quit drinking!"
The Paris metro smells like a mix between pepto bismol and piss. It is a warm frothy musk that makes you feel like you're swimming through it,
past sophisticated arms,
fashionable everybodys,
lonely anybodys,
and a romanian accordian player,
against the loud veil shrill sound
that sweeps across your long hair
flowing
behind the train.
Gross
but still soothing
in an
any-thing-can-happen-
city
kind of way.
My knees stay purple.
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