Clear Above the Lip

The concrete quarter-pipe caught the early morning light, completely empty. You wanted height, and noise. Fair enough. I lined up twenty feet back, dropped in with full momentum, and drove my back heel hard into the tail against the lip. The pop echoed off the curved walls—a sharp, loud snap. Mid-air, two feet clear above the steel coping, I caught the edge of the board with one gloved hand, rotating smoothly against the sky. For a split second, everything hung suspended. Both sneaker soles locked back onto the griptape right as gravity took over, stomping into the downward slope with a resonant thud. Definitely not quiet.