SKATE
NOR
HOM
NCHERCHER BO
Story by Scobey
vation courtesy of Cunningham's tail
at the Afro Bowl. This Page: Same
pool, old school. Long time N-man
Gary Cross licks the lip Photos by
Michael Blanchard
Last night, or maybe it wasn't, I dreamt I was standing on the edge of a tall building Left: Conscientious coping conser
looking down into a very steep street. I saw a large picture of James Arnez painted on the
sidewalk below. There was a big (but not too big) crate of one pound boxes of C&H Pure Cane
Sugar next to me. You know, with the annoying pink and blue color scheme. Anyway, I had
been told by a little uniformed man to drop these boxes over the side of the building. I did
this without question.
As the boxes fell, the most peculiar thing would happen to them. About halfway
down they would change into things that were familiar and dear to me, like my National
Geographic collection, a clipping from the February '88 issue of THRASHER (Ask The Doctor,
I think). I saw my teddy bear, an autographed picture of Enrico Hidalgo (a dilligent tomato
picker) and a sketch I had made of my friends when I was younger. How did they stay young?
I saw other stuff too, but I can't remember it all. Then, about 27 or 12 feet from
the ground, the objects would curl up and condense into little white marbles and hit the ground
with a mild thud. What spectacular roly-poly objects they became.
Since James Arnez was down there looking up at me, I decided to drop the sugar
boxes on him and see if I could get the little balls on his face. I hit his cheeks and forehead
and even his nose once. All the while, however, there seemed to be something amiss, something
strangely wrong. The crate never seemed to empty. No matter how many sugars I dropped,
it was always half full.