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On a savage New
York City evening,
Ritchy Rojas (left)
bashes ollie-to-rear
truck grinds contin-
uously for the better
part of an hour before
moving on to more
challenging haunts. The
locations of the more
prime terrain is often
guarded by the usage of
code names among the
sometimes cliquish locals.
The reason? To avoid the
loss of said spot, due to zoo-
sessions of unworthy kooks.
School W is one such place,
somewhere in Southern
California. There one may
find Jason Lee (upper right)
floating well above a trash
receptacle and all points beyond, or perhaps
Louisiana-transplant Sal Barbier (lower right) might
be hanging about, pumping an ollie-to-lien air on a
sensually fine embankment.
Whatever the case, in whatever the location, in
whatever the season and whatever the frame of
mind, the streetists are hermetically sealed into the
mold of adaptation, with no traditions, rules or time
for standing still. What lies ahead is best not
pondered, it is better to ride out this impending
storm and see what comes out in the wash.
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