Spinning Bearings

Spotted a battered skateboard resting against the garage wall, right where the warm concrete caught the midday sun. I shuffled over, real easy, and hauled myself onto the lower curve of the wooden deck. The black grip tape felt rough and gritty beneath my paws, just like heavy-grit sandpaper. I leaned my back against the kicktail, stretched out one leg, and gave the front urethane wheel a lazy flick with my sneaker toe. It took off spinning—a smooth, steady whir of tiny steel ball-bearings that hummed right through the deck and into my spine. Just sat there in the shade, watching the graphic blur until it coasted to a quiet stop.