Crest of the Curve

Spotted a clean concrete transition banking up from the sidewalk into the plaza. No thinking twice. Leaned my weight hard into the slope, letting the roll pick up real speed across the smooth grey curve. Right at the top lip, momentum ran clean out. Just hovered there for a split second—dead center, weightless, cap brim tilted back while my curls drifted forward in the cool evening air. Then gravity took over. Coasted fakie straight back down the curve, wheels-free and smooth, carving a wide arc across the flat pavement before coming to a gentle, easy glide. Didn't even need to brake.