I look at them differently now, those of boys, hanging around on the streets of Vancouver. The ones by the Roundhouse exit aren't wearing jerseys tonight. But, is that because the season is over or did they lose them to fire recently. I casually scan their faces to see if there are any missing eyebrows.
Tonight they are heading to skateboard bud's place to eat pizza. There were ten of them, but as they head towards the skytrain entrance they peel off in twos. The exits are punctuated by handshakes so complicated they make a baseball coach's signals to players feel decodable.
-Fuck yeah. Call the girls. We'll go out. Just not tonight. Bud (pronounced buuuud) says this hoisting his skateboard from arm to arm. As the final three make their way down the stairs to the train.
-But, dude you wife can't come tonight unless she brings a friend. Ha.
I can't decide if he is trying to assure Dude that it's a joke, or if he's trying to convince himself.
Dude is dressed in black, with black high tops, hoodie and pants. His pants are torn and he holds them together with dozens of strategically place safety pins. He accessorizes with matching pins in his ears and bottom lip. I wouldn't have guessed wife. I don't hear Dude's response. I am busy processing the wife comment.
Dude speaks with the unmistakable lilt of a Québécois accent. The two friends laugh at his response, so no offence taken.
I look at their backpacks. I wonder, do they have new laptops in there?
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