The shoes behind me on the ledge belonged to a hobo who took a pair of fancy skate shoes as a gift from this weird spracker drug dealer from Cali who was watching my bag for me before I did this back tail. He showed me his sprained ankle and claimed it was due to our harsh concrete as compared to the California sand. I nodded or grunted or something and skated across the street. When I got back to the Starbucks side, some other hobo had his fancy skate shoes on and was holding the shitty trainers in the photo while dude hobbled off in his stocking feet. I was like, "give him your shoes dude He just hooked you up!". But dude wasn't having it. He claimed drug dealer had plenty of dough and didn't need the crappy shoes. So dude just hobbled off with no shoes all sad like and the trainers ended up sitting on the ledge. A silent reminder of another strangely poignant moment at Westlake. And so I back failed by them shits and called it a night.
The shoes behind me on the ledge belonged to a hobo who took a pair of fancy skate shoes as a gift from this weird spracker drug dealer from Cali who was watching my bag for me before I did this back tail. He showed me his sprained ankle and claimed it was due to our harsh concrete as compared to the California sand. I nodded or grunted or something and skated across the street. When I got back to the Starbucks side, some other hobo had his fancy skate shoes on and was holding the shitty trainers in the photo while dude hobbled off in his stocking feet. I was like, "give him your shoes dude
ReplyDeleteHe just hooked you up!". But dude wasn't having it. He claimed drug dealer had plenty of dough and didn't need the crappy shoes. So dude just hobbled off with no shoes all sad like and the trainers ended up sitting on the ledge. A silent reminder of another strangely poignant moment at Westlake. And so I back failed by them shits and called it a night.