Grip Tape Breach

Target locked three feet from the door: an upturned skateboard resting flat on the concrete slab. Kicktail sloped right down to ground level. Clean wedge ramp. Dropped into drive. Full forward throttle across the brushed stone. Tires hit the angled plywood lip at peak momentum. Instant transition. The glossy wood gave way to raw, pitch-black grip tape. Coarse mineral grit bit into my rubber treads like teeth. Friction spiked three hundred percent. No slide. Zero drift. The sudden drag hauled my chassis to a dead halt dead center on the deck. Supreme traction verified.