Later, we made our way down South Temple. Playing in traffic is so fun on Sundays, I don’t get why people are so uptight. I guess all that worship makes them uneasy and a Satanic skater in the road really gives them the willies. So, we’re all skating down the road, meanwhile Swainston and Dirty Hads are all riding in this stupid car, breaking the first rule of DTX: no cars! I was gonna choke that pussy ass hipster out again. Oh well, I bet he got pics seeing as how he had to haul all that flash tri pod brick a brack. Blood of a thousand rotting corpses intoxicate my blackened soul. Another lonely hill for us trespassers. I roll fakie until speed and heartbeat is fulfilled, I switch my stance with a quick twitch of my downhill facing tail. I pass a bum and spit in his ugly mug just for fun. He gives chase and as his legs give out the drunk ass face plants the sand paper cement. With face peeled back and skull partially exposed this derelict gets to his knees and quickly collapses as the thinned blood fails to fuel his brain. We all laughed, maybe Fish the loudest, a grand yo ho ho as the gang reaches the HK at the bottom. Supercilious landlords of this megalith on 1st S. have done all they can to prevent such perversion on their brick laid plaza. Knobbed hopeless handrail and haphazard security guard. Nice attempt, but old salts like myself and crew could give a fuck less about a rail and as for the rent a cop, fuck ‘em, always nappin’ always good for a half hour hessian session.
Tricks out, tricks on and tricks into these cheese wedge brick banks. It don’t matter what tricks went down, Satanic grins abounded as childlike desires were fulfilled in man bodies. This is, of course, the best skate plaza in the city. We sinners harvested the carcass of a thousand Christian sympathizers as our vain repetition of Sunday Satanism boiled to the brim. Hardy laughs and aluminum can cheers were heard for miles as we passionately adulterized the business building’s commons. We mocked the bewildered security guard who finally showed up as we were already prepping to depart. What else to do but bomb some more and catch up with prematurely ejaculated comrades Bawbo and What’s-His-Name at the titty-less bar. I make a point to note the fact of titty-lessness because of my distaste for such a prude setting. However, I willingly abided in hopes of deals on palatable lager. Four dollar shot and stein I ordered from the barkeep and realizing I only had three ones in my pocket I turned to Jared for a dollar. He obliges and I pay the drink hag in turn. This was the beginning of a few hours spent in the house of our dark lord. We toasted to the good old days and good old bus route 8. Suicide of a thousand youthful virgins whistle in the dying trees. As long as mystical union between man and maple exist, I will rejoice in fall love and childlike fantasies of a world not so mad.