Morning Grind

I rolled back to the skate park early, eager to catch the fresh morning air on the concrete. Down by the flat ground, a skater in a dark hoodie with a black-and-red deck—who told me to call him Shadow—was warming up with crisp kickflips. When he saw me line up my miniature fingerboard on the metal coping above the bowl, he gave a nod and dropped in. I kicked my tail down, dropping into a tight slide along the coping edge right as he carved past below, snapping a clean revert just as he cleared the lip. Perfect sync.