New York City had always been a comfort to Devon. The buildings he knew by heart, the people he passed by on his route to school or work or home, the clubs he played at and danced at and drank at. It was home wrapped in a magic mixture of romance and blood. He passed the alleyway he had gotten his ass handed to him in two years ago, his skateboard taking him further and faster, the wind pushing through his dreads and threatening his headphones.

A hand reached up to hold the music to his ear, a converse hitting the ground to push him further, push him faster. The world spread around him, the beginnings of autumn sending the world into bright yellows and oranges. Leafs had begun to splatter the ground, but not enough that his skateboard would get stuck.

Devon had grown up in New York City, he had spent his entire life rolling around those streets, living in the same apartment with his parents since he had been brought home from the hospital.

His dad was gone now, but his mom was as fierce and divine and motherly as usual, her own brand of Trinidadian American love. Devon came to a rolling stop outside the bodega, taking his bag off to fit his skateboard between the straps and hoisting it back up onto his back as he entered the shop, on the hunt for items his mother provided on a grocery list, the handwriting he knew by heart scrawling out vegetables and soups and meat.

Devon waved a hand in the air without looking at the bodega worker, he knew him well enough to not have to look up. Maneuvering so his skateboard didn't take any victims through the thin aisles, he grabbed the needed items and reached the fridge of cold drinks for a last second treat.

Music played in his ears, a labyrinth like musical artist with his beats and vocals, eyes scanning the colourful drinks for a craving kick, one he wasn't sure he had until he was looking at the options. Eyes turned until they realized they were not choosing a drink alone.