Cyrus dreamed he was riding his electric skateboard through the snow under a starry sky. His motor whined as he cut a path in the middle of the street that looked like miniature train tracks. He was in Logan Square with cars all around him. He skated through a light and hit a thick layer of snow, slowing down.
His earbuds were snug in his ears and he hugged himself as a katana-sharp breeze blew through him.
“Do you think this is really a good idea?” his mom said in his earbuds.
“Perfectly fine,” he said as a car honked behind him.
He cradled the remote in his hand and pushed harder on the throttle. The wheels threw up snow as the engine chugged and burped.
“Come on,” he said.
He suddenly remembered he had to return Fontanelli’s equipment. The backpack sprayer was light on his back.
