The blare of a car horn snaps him back to reality. “Get the hell out of the way!” someone cries as CJ skates to a stop. Before he can turn, a Beemer flies by, close enough that the back of his jacket billows out from the car’s passing.
“Fucking ass!” Mick yells after the driver. CJ waits for an opening between cars and then darts back to the safety of the sidewalk, where Mick growls, “Can’t they see we’re skating here? Jesus.”
CJ stares after the car that almost hit him. Richard drives a BMW, though his is an older model. And in better shape, too,CJ tells himself. Runs like silk.He has half a mind to jog over to the spot that the car pulls into and knock on the window, wait for the driver to roll down the glass, then lean in and boast, “Myguy has one of these, too. Yours looks like shit compared to his.”
He should do it, but he’s not like that. “I wish we could use the pipe,” he mutters. He looks at Mick, who just ignores him, so CJ turns to Brendan. “What time is it anyway?”