shirts yelling "YEE HAW!"
On Wednesday, things had bright-
ened. Work on the ramps began
inside the Civic after a not so warm
conversation with Mike, the floor
manager, in which the final verdict was
a ban on wall riding. Later he was tied
to a forklift and publicly humiliated
but that's another story. "Muir The
Hammer" arrived in time for lunch
down the street at the Crystal Beer
Palace-home of killer eats and good
patrons. Blues legend, Tumbleweed
was recognized by our waitress Buela
(a legend her own damn self) and free
drinks were brought to the table with
much rejoicing. That night it was clear
to all that this was no standard gather-
ing. Masses of skaters began to group
around the hotel, big ones, little ones,
fat ones, skinny ones and crazy ones.
The local police, in all their wisdom,
had stationed a round-the-clock
officer. This was a good idea, since the
skating continued around the clock.
Ahhh-better bread than is made of
wheat.
On Thursday, most of the pros
arrived. Some had the good sense to
check into other, more obscure
locales. Alva was seen leaving an
elevator with suitcase amid flying beer
cans and loud, unintelligible chanting.
Shock-stricken lobby personel lis-
tened in awe as T.A. ranted and raved
about the poor quality of the linen and
the lack of M.T.V. and pool access. As
the last of the elevator's occupants
slipped through the front door, McGill
and his lovely lady were stopped and
questioned; a strange sight to be sure.
Early that day, the ramps were com-
pleted. Daddy V., the Grand Imperial
Poo Bah, walked in with a strange
bearded fat man and a box of spray
cans. The ramps were beautified, and
the mysterious urban artiste faded into
the horizon. V. then gave out the ▶
Stale fish 180° to fakie corner air off the skull. Need we
Identify the man?
Stevie C. In lofty pursuit of his manifest destiny"
Going off but always on.