“Cops busted some kids in there last night,” the guy who’s not Mick says. He leans back against the wall again, nudging his board back and forth with one foot while he shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “Hash or pot, something like that. They’re patrolling the whole damn lot now. I’m Brendan. He’s Mick.”
With a nod, CJ says, “That’s s**t about the pipe.” He came out here early just to skate it and now he can’t. Where’s Richard already?
Brendan nods, it is s**t. For a few moments they’re silent—the only sound is the scritch of Mick’s wheels on the concrete. He might be a good skater in time, but right now CJ secretly thinks he’s s**t, too. Can’t keep his feet on the board, it just gets away from him. As it flies out into traffic he falls hard on his butt… he sucks, plain
