Impalers.

It's at the Goodman Factory, on 11th and Ella. They manufacture furnaces and air conditioners for mass consumption. The factory operates around-the-clock.

There's a spot there. It's a bank-to-ledge, skatepark-grade smooth, and it is -in my opinion- the best skate spot in the Heights. I skated it on Monday.

So I'm at it for fifteen minutes or so, and then I decide to roll under a tree and hang out for a minute. Get out of the sun.

All of a sudden there's a BOOMING voice calling from above me. HEY! HEY KID! YOU CAN'T DO THAT HEEEEEERE!

  I deduce, in the span of one-mississippi, that:

A) it is a security guard, three stories up.
B) and that I'm gonna have some fun with him.


GOD?! I yell. GOD, it's Kevin! IS THAT YOU, LORD?!

He doesn't play along at all.

NO! He hollers. AND YOU CAN'T SKATEBOARD HERE! YOU HAVE TO LEAVE!

So I yell 'fine, I'm going', and I go.


I've skated that spot after work every day this week. And every time, after fifteen minutes or so, the same portly security guard comes waddling down the garage ramp. From three stories up. That's why I get fifteen uninterrupted minutes.

Kid, it's you again! I told you, you can't skateboard here. You gotta go!

Oh. Tsup, Lord. Yeah it's just me... but then, you knew that already! Yeah, I was just leaving.



As long as he doesn't get fed up and call some real cops, I see no reason why we can't keep this up for a while. It's symbiotic, really. I get to skate for just the right amount of time, and he gets what I have to assume is his only exercise for the day. Win-win. People helping people.



Man is a communal creature. Time is for sharing. I'll grow on you if you grow on me.

Never // Always

I'm just a kid from the suburbs. I've wanted for nothing. I've been given everything. These are some of the things I have done.

-Lied.
-Cheated.
-Stolen.
-Made my parents ashamed.
-Made my parents proud.
-Drank to excess.
-Smoked the devil's lettuce.
-Defaced property.
-Defaced myself.
-Made another person bleed.
-Been made to bleed by another person.
-Doubted the existence of God.
-Questioned the purpose of religion.
-Questioned the purpose of people in general.
-Hurt people I care about. 
-Failed people I care about.
-Tried to be a good son.
-Tried to be a good brother.
-Tried to be a good friend.


I'm just a kid from the suburbs. I've wanted for nothing. I've been given everything. These are some of the things I have not done.

-Gone to bed hungry.
-Slept on the street.
-Not had clothes on my back.
-Stuck a needle in my body.
-Been addicted.
-Been abused.
-Had a (real) weapon pulled on me.
-Been made to do anything I didn't want to do.
-Not had money.
-Not had options.
-Felt neglected.
-Felt unloved.

I'm just a kid from the suburbs.

My nose bleeds like my father's did.

My nose bleeds like my father's did. 

I'll never be pure.

I'll never be pure. 

I'll never be pure.

I'll never be pure.

I'll always be loved. 

I'll always be loved.

I'll always be loved.

I'll always be loved.

I'll never be pure. 

I'll never be pure.

I'll never be pure.

I'll never be pure. 

I'll always be loved.

Black Jeans, Black T-Shirt

Always thought that action was the goal

I don't know if the action's gotten old

David

...but five minutes later he stopped me and asked me if I believed in God. 

"No," I told him.

"Why?"

I thought for a second. "Because I have hair on my back, and lots of other people, people who kill and rob and make life miserable, don't. A real God wouldn't let that happen."

Heights Proper

Yeah, they do. Not just a Catholic problem.

Guinea fowl, loose in the streets. Get as close as you like- the only thing they'll ever run from is a dog.

Mackerelmore

Turns out, as a result of the endless generosity of my fwends, I was able to attend Summer Fest after all. Thanks Morgan and John, thanks Jon, and thanks so much, Richie!



So Macklemore goes on, and he's thrift-store shopping and everything, and this lady is all, "I can't see him!"

And I'm all, "Ummm, I've got shoulders, and none of my friends are down to get up there..."

And she's all, "Dude, I'm 6' 1". You sure about this?"

And I'm like, "Yup. Wanna shoot hoops later?"



Poor decision. We made it through one song. I'm not sure my body has ever poured out more sweat within the span of a minute-and a-half.

 Then there was some miscommunication about how I was to be compensated for my efforts. She said she didn't kiss on the first date. I told her I didn't either- when I said she could tag me on the cheek, I meant with her fist. 'Cause I had said something that offended her a little. Again, a miscommunication.


Ultimately, she tried to pay me with weed.

I jumped back, fucking appalled.

"Look, lady!", I yelled. Well, yelled and cried. I was crying by then. "Do you know what this is?! This is...marijuana! Do you know where we are?! A FRIGGING MUSIC FESTIVAL! If you think I came here to get drunk and smoke weed...WELL! You been following me around, or what?!"



And that's how it happened, Mom. People these days. Fuck. Frick, too.






Propers due: You took a great photo, Kimberly. Thanks again!