Then one day you give a guy your legs.
You skate up Broadway alongside the traffic. You love the feeling you get when the traffic lights stop the cars and let you go gliding through. Now you realize, once upon a time, Louie used to have that feeling too.
It happens like this. You hang out in a place. Let’s say Central Park, at the dance skaters’ circle, and over some time, maybe a few months, you get really into the scene: You rollerskate around the rink, play chess on the benches, and shoot the shit with people who wander into the area—everyone from investment bankers, to Columbia professors, to guys who sell bags of weed on the edge of the pavement. The atmosphere’s like a party, only better. Everyone’s happy all the time. You don’t know if it’s the endorphins, the fresh air, or what—and you don’t even care. You’ve finally found a place to go.
Eventually you meet this guy in the park. He’s part of the scene, just like you are. He’s b…