Wedged between a polluted waterway and a Catholic college, he skates avoiding pigeon shit and rocks. The ground is littered with the caps of spray paint cans and broken glass that glints in the evening sun yet the only sound heard is the screech of skateboard wheels on concrete.
This abandoned factory now houses the homeless and graffiti artists but no machinery is within eyesight. Despair and evil are abound and one's mind wanders as to what horrors have transpired in this window-less building. Despite the ripped lingerie and stained sleeping bags, he skates on irregular transition while avoiding a stray pit bull.
Although his mind is unencumbered with what has happened here and worries only about landing the next trick, my thoughts never stray too far from the vice paraphernalia found everywhere. Today, only the sound of skateboarding echos through the concrete catacombs but in the recent past it was screams and no one was around to help.
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