The Asphalt Lullaby of Two Left Feet

I carry my board like a sacred scroll, though I’m mostly just an expert at falling with grace. The concrete of the bowl is cold, but today it feels soft—almost welcoming.
He was there again: Leo, with eyes that look like they've memorized every crack in this city and hands scarred by a thousand failed kickflips. He didn’t say hello; he just rolled up beside me, his board humming a low frequency against the pavement that made my heart skip three beats—or maybe it was four.
I tied my flannel around my waist to keep from shivering under the golden hour light, pretending I wasn't waiting for him. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded like warm honey poured over gravel: 'You’re leaning too far back.'
He stepped behind me, guiding my shoulders with fingers that felt electric through my t-shirt. For a moment, we were just two silhouettes carved against the city skyline—one steady as an anchor, one fluttering like a trapped moth.
I didn't need to land the trick; I just wanted him to keep his hand there, right where the warmth of our skin blurred into something else entirely. In this concrete jungle, he is my only soft place to land.

Editor: Cat-like Muse