Again. That was the only thing going through my brain, like a loop playing over and over again, as I pushed off toward home. That and the smell of her hair. Like Fruit Loops. I love Fruit Loops. We don’t get those too often in the Village. My board glided over the ramps and sidewalks and handrails until I got to the King footbridge. I wasn’t quite ready to go home yet. I plopped myself down by the statue. From there you can see the back end of downtown—the reverse of the skyline you see on the city logo—with Memorial Avenue running right through it. My brain wandered off from the Fruit Loops to darker areas, like cops and black vans. I, for one, was looking forward to some ride-along action with the Black Van Committee, but I didn’t know how I was going to stand not knowing until then. At least I’d get to see Nora on Monday. And she definitely said to call her this weekend. I got out my sketch pad, cranked up the tunes on my mobile—a little Lo-Fi Strangers I’d cadged off Spike.
