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Cicada Days
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i can feel something inside me say
[ *  *  *  * ]
"I've done hoppingly well. Wait shit, that didn't come out right." Somewhere in the unfathomable depths of Irene's mind several potential references and dubiously witty statements had been cross-wired into a final result with no impact or worth. Irene braced for the condescending drum roll of fingers across the crown of her head. Her year under Sandra's wing had repeatedly proven who the superior of the art of board was. In Irene's defense, she had upped her win-loss ratio significantly. Roughly thirty percent was way better than single digits, objectively.

"Holding." Irene watched Sandra bolt down her meal with only a few odd hand gestures that may or may not have been abortive attempts at communication. She was in the middle of one when Sandra was suddenly off. "Yo, wait up you fuck!" Disrespectful as the address was it was Irene's most often used pronoun by a significant margin, along with a slew of variants on other cuss words such as 'bitch' and 'shit'.

Her board took a bit of work to retrieve, but she scooped it up and was on Sandra's heels, feet in their familiar stance atop her faithful old skateboard with it's many peeling cat stickers. Irene wasn't that far behind, a fact she happily retorted despite her need to conserve breath. "I'll leave you behind!" Nailed it.

The grind rail wasn't Irene's specialty. This was going to be a show.
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The Weekly Grind · Desert Plains Skate Park