I used to roller skate. Once.
Every Friday night I would go down to the Mt Wellington Skate rink with my crew with nothing but 10$ and our pride. We were pretty well known and would own the dome every time we slid onto it. The DJ knew us, and he knew we were pro. He played our intro beegees song and we were off. We slid around the ring in our casual effortless flow as bystanders stood amazed and dumbfounded. You could tell the exact moment when they realised they would never amount to anything of our stature. We ruled the ring. We owned the world. We were kings.
At least, we were.
It all went sour grapes when Tommy and Debby Peterson came one Friday evening. I was talking to the hot cashier by the door when I noticed them both standing there in full sweat suits. Their skates in a sports bag, hanging lazily off their shoulders. Their faces were emitting boredom. You could tell they thought nothing of this rink, my home, and that offended me. It probably offended them just to be in here. I sat down with my soda pepsi as I watched them enter - still wearing their sweatsuits. Immediately Tommy took off.
He was fast - I'll admit it. His hair cut short to keep out of his eyes, He ran through crowds of people, picking up more speed as he went around the ring. This was dangerous, anyone could see that. He would soon be going too fast to dodge people, and he wasn't showing signs of slowing down. I could only watch as I waited for the cries of a 6 year old boy, being bowled over by a 14 year old on his birthday.
A mother was ushering her child off the rink, aware of the approaching danger. "Too slow" I think, as I watch the oncoming Turbo Tommy. A brutish-yet-girl-like scream fills the hall as Roller Debby comes flying and uses the weight of herself to push the mother out of the way.
Are you a bot
