I pushed ground harder and harder, gaining speed. With the bearings freshly oiled I was cruising through the neighborhood. My worn-out skate shoes comfortably on my feet, upbeat guitar riffs blasting through my headphones. It felt good to be skateboarding again. This sense of freedom I was craving desperately.
Once again the walls had been closing in, and I was reliving the conversation I had with my guardian before things escalated. I had grabbed my shit and slammed the door behind me. ‘Miserable degenerate excuse of a human being’, Diablo whispered in my ear. I kept blazing further and further away from the house; I needed to get away. As I was speeding up in the bicycle lane on the wrong side of the road, I noticed the cyclist approaching. Gritting my teeth I kept dashing forward. Now what? I asked myself. ‘Don’t move for nobody‘, Diablo hissed instantly. I felt the fire flare up in my chest again. Clenching my fists now, I kept the same course, making my intentions crystal clear. The cyclist made futile attempts to persuade me to move out of the way, ringing his bell repetitively. Not a chance homie. Several yards before we were about to crash into each other the guy caved and swayed out my way, yelling something over his shoulder as he disappeared out of sight. ‘Nicely done’ Diablo whispered in my ear. I unclenched my jaw and grinned. Weak-minded excuse of man, I thought as I ignored a red light and headed towards the abandoned wharves. A little ways ahead of me a trash bin on the curb appeared in my sight. Quickly after, just as expected, I heard the familiar voice hissing in my ear: ‘Kick it‘. A well placed foot… and the contents of the bin lay scattered across the curb. The concerning owner came rushing out from his garden. With disbelief in his eyes, looking at the with rubbish littered sidewalk he raged; ‘Damn you, punk-brat, I hope you’ll break your neck!!’, while shaking his fist. Heedless I gave him the finger, yet I was attentive of any reaction. ‘Good work‘, I heard the expected whisper in my ear. I felt an ambiguous feeling of accomplishment…
You’ll never catch me now…
You know I won’t slow down…
You’ll never catch me…
You’ll never take me…
You’ll never catch me now…
I had reached the cities outskirts. The wharves looked desolate as always. Several deteriorated containers lay scattered across the quays. I jumped of my skateboard and kicked its tail, routinely catching it mid-air. They quays were dotted with rusty mooring-posts. Some of them still had bits and pieces of old frayed rope attached to them. In the distance I could make out the remnants of the forsaken warehouses, awaiting their future destination. Most of them now served as shelter for junkies and seagulls. The wharves had been abandoned as long as I could remember, its proper demolition nowhere near being a priority on the city councils to-do list.
We had been coming here since we were kids. When we discovered that the large concrete floorboards served as the ideal surface to practice our skateboarding tricks it became our new stomping ground. I shuffled towards one of the mooring posts, and sat down. I tucked my skateboard behind the straps of my backpack and pulled off my headphones. The air smelled like seawater and damp wood. The sound of the water periodically splashing against the walls of the quays had a soothing effect. Slowly I felt my anger subside and the pounding in my chest settle.
‘Smoke‘, Diablo imposed on me. I rummaged through my pack to find a fumbled pack of Lucky Strikes and a gasoline lighter. I looked out over the distant waters, lit up and inhaled deeply. I thought about the time when I had started smoking. It was a long time ago. At first it was just another way to infuriate the home-front. Now however, I had gotten pretty good at it..
It always pissed me off seeing people smoke who were not really smokers.. Pretenders. Trying to look cool. I could always tell… The way they would hold their sig for example. Tense fingers, not yet accustomed to its shape, and painfully aware of the fact that they are holding a burning object. The insecurity in their eyes, not knowing where to position the cigarette on their lips. Some of them almost seeming to eat their cigarettes. When they’d cautiously take a drag, worried about any pain the heat may cause to their unaccustomed throats. Some of them only briefly trapping the smoke in their mouths, before quickly puffing it out again. Never properly inhaling. A real waste of nicotine If you asked me… And a waste of energy on their efforts building their image. Looking stupid does not look good on you… I suggest every rookie-smoker to practice-smoke at least a whole pack in front of a mirror, before blasting your street-cred to oblivion.
Slowly exhaling, I send out a couple of smoke rings and flicked the cigarette stub into the water. ‘What should I do next?’ I wondered. ‘Drink some beers and smash a couple of windows‘, Diablo whispered in my ear.
Whoa!
Devil on my shoulder…
I’m laying lower now my life is over…
Devil on my Shoulder – Zebrahead
