The candle is cucumber melon. I take it off the wet bar and stash it in my sweater. I grab my skateboard and head out the door. I exit the backside of the apartments, skating past the pool into the night. I enjoy taking the short cuts, behind the hotels and restaurants, through the bank's parking lot, over the train tracks and across the back side of the station. Some times it's about the journey, not the destination. I bypass the next corner of the block by riding through a small business parking lot. The security guard drives toward me, but I am already out of his sight, out of the parking lot. Across the street and down the block there is a park. I am not sure how legal this is, but I pull out the green candle, hold it firmly in my hand, and rub it along the length each ledge.
Once there is a nice coat of wax along each ledge, and my hands smell of sweet cucumber melon, I get back on my skateboard and test the results. I've turned the park, into a skate-park. Each ledge is slick, ready for any grind or slide I'm ready to perform. I warm up with some small tricks and stretch out my legs and arms -- one of the most useful things I took with me from high school was learning how to stretch. I take a couple laps around the park and notice the other ledges. The ones I waxed months before and the ones that mysteriously became waxed. I know this is a popular park for skateboarding and I wish I could come here during the day and skate with the others who leave hints of their skateboards' color on the ledges for me to realize that I'm not the only one.
A man and his dog approach me, so I sit and pet his Belgian Shepard. We talk about dogs, skateboarding, and this town in which we live. I am surprised that he hasn't been on the other side of the train tracks, and he is surprised that I traveled across the tracks to visit the park. But what else would I do on this beautiful Friday night.
With a Perspective, I'm Fabio Passalacqua.