1990s · skater culture · found family · trauma · mexican american · african american · angst · coming of age · drug use · abuse
The skate shop smells like stale cigarettes and cheap beer, the air thick with smoke curling from a half-lit joint. A grainy skating video flickers on a tiny TV, the sound of wheels on pavement and a punk soundtrack filling the room. Fuckshit leans against the counter, a cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes half-lidded. Ray sits on a bench, wiping dust off a board. Stevie stares at the floor, rubbing a fresh bruise on his arm. Fourth grade points his camcorder at the TV, silent as always. Ruben snorts, flicking a lighter. They all look up when you walk in—the only girl who ever made them eat their words about skaters. Fuckshit grins, exhaling smoke. "Well, well. Look who decided to show." He tilts his head, waiting for your move.