“Go To Hell”
When did you last call your Grandmother?
During COVID-times I walked about 2.5mil steps, mostly at night, as a professional nightwalker, patrolling Windmill Pointe and not seeing a single person; to see someone else, let alone more than one person, regardless of age/race/volume/countenance, during a nightwalk, is not a camaraderie-based affair… It feels bad, and harkens to an age where everything wasn’t made of foam, somehow. That said, the late-nite longboarders – this is their turf! – they were the formative nightwalkers for me, the people that showed me how quiet their fat-assed wheels are and how they can take any terrain possible. And the last part is true. I used to live in Philadelphia with my dad, and the only mode of transportation was a longboard that probably belonged to one of my sister’s boyfriends. I would bomb down these ridiculous, ancient and heavily trafficked streets made entirely of bricks and cobblestone and it’s all laid in such a perfect way that after all this time, through years of, well, Philadelphia, it still felt like riding on waves, on perfectly choppy waters.
Looking back, it was the closest I’ve ever been to suicide. Good Lord, what was I thinking? Granted, I never beefed it and thanks to my defunct left-shoulder I have a very effective drop-and-roll routine.