I could never roller skate regular style but I could do tricks. My favorite trick was jumping over barrels, except instead of roller skates I used a dirt bike, and we did it in the yard instead of a roller rink. But we built a tall enough stack of cinderblocks and triple layer plywood scraps that we could launch over three rusty barrels. Using back roads mathematics while drunk at age 14, we realized that we could set the middle barrel upright and use it for its rightful purpose of burning household garbage, and still likely jump that. My partner in stupidity was 9 months younger than me, so as the eldest, I had right of going first or refusal to pass along, but we all know that refusal to do such a thing was a huge red flag of deep character flaws, so of course I went first. It didn’t go well. I hit the ramp awkward, might’ve been a bit nervous, and I remember thinking, “Why didn’t we do a test run without the barrel fire going?” and that was my last conscious thought as I wobbled off the ramp and fell directly into the barrel fire. Turned out the barrel fire was actually a portal into America, which is how I ended up here. All that we know is actually the ass end of a portal opening where they burn the trash of a better place. I miss it there, but I don’t know how to get out of this shitty portal.
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