Behind him, Andaroos—his reluctant disciple and former competitive eater—wheezed. “Jesus. I mean… SkatingJesus . Can we not do the thing where you ollie over a pit of obsolete guardian angels?”
Andaroos watched from above, clutching his holy hot dog (mustard as prophecy). “He’s going to try the Christ Air 360 into the loop, isn’t he?” Halfway through the handrail, SkatingJesus hesitated. For the first time in twelve eternities, doubt infected his bearings. A memory surfaced: his previous incarnation, nailed not to a cross but to a billboard for a soda brand. The betrayal of mass production. The moment they turned his blood into a limited-edition flavor. SkatingJesus Andaroos Chronicles Chapter 3l
SkatingJesus winked. “We always do, brother. We always do.” Can we not do the thing where you
“You have the right to remain rad.”
SkatingJesus smiled, revealing teeth filed into miniature church spires. “I don’t pay to skate. I skate to unpay .” A memory surfaced: his previous incarnation, nailed not
SkatingJesus laughed, spitting up a little light. “You think I do this for belief? I do it because the grind is the only honest prayer. When you slide metal on concrete, the universe makes a sound. And that sound says: I was here. I fell. I got up. ”