Little did he know I’ve got somewhere I want to be — be it a curb, wall, handrail, ramp, or a flight of steps. But I wasn’t going to tell him; he could never understand. Instead I just went back to my comic, amused and content to let him and his comrades convince themselves they had got the better of me. But I knew better.
Once the train had pulled up at Victoria I knew this was where the shit really hit the fan: the pushing, the shoving and briefcase swinging. What a rat race — and that’s just getting off the train. I still had to travel from Victoria to Waterloo by tube, not a easy task during rush hour. About 10 minutes into my journey I found myself feeling uneasy, almost paranoid for some reason, and then it clicks: there they are everywhere with their trench-coats, black suits, pink papers and blank faces. Everywhere. These people were really beginning to bug me. By the time I got to Waterloo I had really begun to resent everything about them, and once I had got to South Bank to meet Warren I was ready to lash out at the owner of the next briefcase to nail me in the shin.
After I had met Warren we were back on the subject of where to skate today. Warren wanted to go to Uxbridge, but I just couldn’t handle another trip on the tube, so we decided to go street skating. We started at Shell Centre, then headed east down the river Thames to the yellow blocks. After a healthy session there, we crossed Blackfriar’s Bridge to Bank of America, then up Chancery Lane to session the various sets of banks along the way. We were having the raddest time, sessioning old and new spots, old and new tricks.

And at that point the text on the disk stops, even though the article continued…