The morning of the race, we walk out of the apartment into
the dark and damp of four AM and are greeted by an unexpected sound: the
oceanic whoosh of skateboard wheels approaching over asphalt. Two punks glide
by, slaloming back and forth across the double yellow—and the second one has a
foot-and-a-half tall mohawk dyed Little Mermaid red.
“It’s a good omen,” says Greg.
We load up the
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