Stained concrete, traffic cones, and fading white lines rush past you in a blur, wind buffeting your hair and loose tee. Your knees are pulled up close to your chest, hands clasped behind your back with your Vans firmly planted on the griptape of your board.

Streetlights drown out the old parking garage in a golden-hour blaze of color, glinting off the hoods of vehicles scattered throughout each level of the building.

Lowering yourself practically parallel to the board, you pick up speed, kicking out the back wheels to round a sharp turn, and descending the spiraling ramp that is the parking garage. Catching up to your counterpart, you swipe at your friend’s tail as it streams out behind him like a sail, keeping him balanced.

Ojiro’s head whirls to look at you, an exhilarated grin gracing his face. A whoop tears out of his lungs as you both round yet another turn, the pure adrenaline flooding your veins leaving you breathless.

“Keep up!” He hollers at you challengingly, eyes sparkling. In the rush of the chase, you find your religion.