skateboarding is an easier feat than walking, most days, so he’s not thinking about it. liam is good at it, modestly ; depending on whom he’s compared. great, even. would probably toy with the idea of going pro if he weren’t twelve thousand percent certain he had to be in a punk rock band. it’s not often, if ever that he remembers outside of actually learning, that he trips up simply riding the damn board. and he doesn’t just trip up ; liam eats full frontal fucking shit over the curb.
so, yeah: he knows it’s a bad day. palms embedded with asphalt, already angrily beading blood gingerly check for any major damage. there’s a burning on the side of his jaw that indicates some nasty road burn, but there’s only beads of the crimson there, too. damn. he curses again under his breath.
