Torero
In Long Beach, skateboarders stick together when gang wars breakout into battles seeking someone to devour. Yellow police tape dispenses from a thick stock roll, but the scene is too late to capture the rolling toll. Violence racially divides cohesion found in the mixed carriers of grip tape. The moment the board is put down to the concrete, friction creates lion wheels. True sportsman keep it pushin’. Maple is mightier than the assault weapon. All around the city its mode is open carry. The right to bare the truth. The Upper Hand holds his beloved far above our understanding behind the charge of the Conquering Lion. He capes the bucking beast charge after charge until it’s ultimate defeat. He guards the least of these from the feast of evil.
The only explanation of how Juice’s interview still happened. The previous night Juice let his close homies know what’s been going on at the chill back. From there everyone went their separate ways. Instead of waiting a half hour for the bus to pull away from Pacific Coast Highway, Juice decided to skate fast toward Orange Avenue where the CVS is placed along the major route. He abruptly stopped by a rock near the business driveway.
Right where he stood a vehicle pulled up with a pack of Mexican males. One bald-headed male yelled out to Juice, “Hey, where are you from?” Confrontational communication first does not identify one’s name and secondly asked where a complete stranger lives disrespectfully. The danger lies in acting without all the facts. Machoism like an overtly aggressive bull charges around in piles of pride aware of it’s well-dressed competition. Sometimes you stand alone during the bull fight of the mouth. Enter at your own risk.
Juice responded by shaking his head, “I’m not from nowhere.” The bald-headed male not receiving a sufficient answer to justify his gang laced language revealed a pistol pointed at Juice. He pulled the trigger one time. The chamber popped. He missed like horns darting at the flowing red spirit. Juice slightly stepped aside without diving away from the offensive movement. They drove away at their convenience. The cowards left the ring with one victor remaining.
Juice directed himself away from the crazy scene by heading across the street to Long Beach Community College. Looking both ways, the jackasses were nowhere to be found. Juice made sure there was no one around.
Looking back, Juice could have stepped to his skateboard which was closer to the gang member’s vehicle and powerfully said, “Man, fuck y’all”. They would have had a closer shot. Juice being himself, not being afraid of anyone, could have acted in anger. He kept his cool and his eyes locked on the men who wanted to kill him. He didn’t turn his back or try to run.
He fluidly skated back toward the bus stop at Long Beach Boulevard. God’s grace kept Juice alive to see another day so he could see his brand new baby daughter. In Los Angeles, off Broadway, this is where he is framed in front of his mother who feeds her grand daughter by bottle. Strong afternoon light casts a security screen shadow on the front door. During our interview, we paused for a moment. A bicycle horn repeatedly sounded off the cart to announce the sale of tamales and elotes.