Well this is tragic. I got deeply inspired to write something compelling and in depth about the path my life has taken over the last 15 years. Everything from my insomniac skater teens to my insomniac drug using twenties and into my insomniac gamer thirties, and all of it started and ended at this double sided curb in the strip mall across the street from my house. I bullshitted with a security guard so he wouldn't throw me out of the parking lot, and sat in the cold to take the piictures. Now I can't find the cable to connect my camera to my computer so I can download the photos.
It's a beautiful curb, too. It runs about 25 feet long, stands no more than 4 inches high, level throughout without any bends or gaps, and it's not on an island but right in the parking lot. There's plenty of runway to get speed going towards it. If the curb were painted it would be perfect, but it's nothing a little surf wax and elbow grease can't fix. When I was skateboarding, everything was skateable. You just had to use your imagination.
15 years ago that curb would have been my altar. I would have prayed at it nightly. Sweat, blood and skin would have been offered in the hours before dawn every night to that curb. I would have named it. I probably would have gone with Chang's, since it's right by the PF Chang's. To me and my friends, though, it would have probably just been The Curb. Had I grown up here I would have shown it to my friends, and we would be there every day after school, and we would begin and end every weekend skating adventure at The Curb. It would be where we met up, and we disbanded. Eventually it would become a focal point for our circle of friends. People get cars, and with them come girls, and then it's a party. Relationships would begin and end at that curb; friendships rise and fall. We would have featured it in the videos we sent out to skate companies when our dreams of sponsorship grew as big as our egos. Word would get out, and we'd have skaters from all over the state, and possibly beyond, coming out to hit our curb. It would become a Spot.
This story has a lot more to it. More than I think I'm going to get down tonight. And I still need to go find that damn USB cable.
It's a beautiful curb, too. It runs about 25 feet long, stands no more than 4 inches high, level throughout without any bends or gaps, and it's not on an island but right in the parking lot. There's plenty of runway to get speed going towards it. If the curb were painted it would be perfect, but it's nothing a little surf wax and elbow grease can't fix. When I was skateboarding, everything was skateable. You just had to use your imagination.
15 years ago that curb would have been my altar. I would have prayed at it nightly. Sweat, blood and skin would have been offered in the hours before dawn every night to that curb. I would have named it. I probably would have gone with Chang's, since it's right by the PF Chang's. To me and my friends, though, it would have probably just been The Curb. Had I grown up here I would have shown it to my friends, and we would be there every day after school, and we would begin and end every weekend skating adventure at The Curb. It would be where we met up, and we disbanded. Eventually it would become a focal point for our circle of friends. People get cars, and with them come girls, and then it's a party. Relationships would begin and end at that curb; friendships rise and fall. We would have featured it in the videos we sent out to skate companies when our dreams of sponsorship grew as big as our egos. Word would get out, and we'd have skaters from all over the state, and possibly beyond, coming out to hit our curb. It would become a Spot.
This story has a lot more to it. More than I think I'm going to get down tonight. And I still need to go find that damn USB cable.
i started to skate way to late in to my teens by if i was any good i'd be at your spot
goodnite!