“Get it, get it,” Moto says. The gang fans out behind Triangle Phil as he steps up to leave his mark on the half-pipe. He lays out the triangle in three quick moves then sets the variables around it. The night gets cold. The downtown lights fade. The gang holds its breath. Triangle Phil checks up at the top of the half-pipe a he sees the spectral form of D Sec balancing on his board. Then D Sec drops in; he screams through Triangle Phil and up the other side. He grabs mad air. Moto says: “shit.” D Sec comes to a stop at the nadir. He looks into Triangle Phil’s eyes.

“She hurt you man?”

“Yeah,” Triangle Phil says.

“What was her name?”

“Jessica.”

“From Sonic?” the ghost of D Sec raises his left eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“Aw dawg,” D Sec shakes his head. “You better finish the ritual up quick.” He pops his board up into his hand, walks off and vanishes from the world of the living. Triangle Phil feels worse than he originally did. 

The gang stops for midnight pancakes. They sit around a particleboard table covered in ashtrays and crumbs. They smoke until food has no taste. Triangle Phil moves the butter around his plate until it melts and turns clear. Moto is talking about space.

“I’d give it all up to go to space once. I would paint the moon so it looked like a basketball. I’d paint the moon so that the stars behind it looked like Kobe coming in for the greatest slam-dunk of all time.” Lozz says the moon landing was an inside job and then folds up a dollar bill until it looks like a soundstage in the desert and decades of lies. Moto gets the waitress’ phone number on a yellow napkin. Her name is Cindy and she’s cute but not as cute as—Jessica was an angel. Her mouth tasted like artificial cherries. She lived in a basement with a hookah and a huge collection of unlabelled VHS tapes. She had been recording television for most of her life so she could put a tape in and transport Phil back to the mid-90’s or the early 90’s or the late 90’s. She took her own clothes off. She fucked with purpose and eye contact.  She hung her skates on an iron nail on the back of her door.