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Most of the city is dead outside of extended office hours now. Even then, I wouldn't call it alive.

In the thirty minutes it took my legs to carry me to the southeastern part of the island, I saw a grand total of two cars. I remember a time when Friday nights meant dodging drunk friend groups and mooching off canned beer. Now it's the occasional run-down car taking people home after working overtime, or maybe delivering food to the few who can afford it.

Whatever it takes to get by.

Hit by a wave of fatigue, I nearly trip over my own feet. It's been a long day. A long year, really, and it's only May.

Ignoring the red light, I roll onto the pedestrian street once labelled the coolest street in the world. It sounds made up, but I believed it.

There was that poutine diner so perfectly mid it was never a bad choice. Rivalling game stores facing each other, coming up with increasingly ambitious TCG tournaments. An indie bookstore serving the best hot cocoa in town.

Until one by one, they all closed. For good.

The hobby stores and family businesses went first, but they were far from the only ones. I pass by an old bank, still plastered with half-scratched off stickers prohibiting skateboards and inline skates inside. They never thought to include roller skates, but the suits kicked me out anyway.

In a way, that's a fond memory too. Yet despite all the memories, the seconds it takes to roll past the abandoned buildings feel longer than all the time I used to spend here combined.

On the last day of this year, I'm gonna turn thirty. Is this what it's like? Did I miss my chance? Looking back, one person by themselves was never going to be able to stand up against what's been happening.

Maybe that's where I went wrong.

Maybe this is my fault.

Next thing I know, my front wheels get stuck in a crack, sending me flying in the middle of the crossing where I hit the ground. Hard.

For a moment, I simply lie there. And I remember.

"Now that you're wearing your funny wheely shoes, the first thing you should know is how to fall. Your fear is your brain trying to protect you, and sometimes you gotta go, 'Bro, shut up.'"

"Falling isn't failing. It's the only way we learn and grow and all that cheesy mature-sounding stuff. And I know it sounds crazy, but it's fun."

That's what I said in one of my videos. Not many people stumble upon what I do, but every now and then someone tells me they needed to hear that. The least I can do is be the person who not only says those words, but lives by them.

"When you fall, you laugh, you get back up."

My lips curve into a smile as I push myself up from the ground. Feeling my heart pound and my knee pulsate in pain, I realize I haven't eaten dirt like this in a long time.

Now that's what I'm talking about.

When it comes to the things you're good at, you can't get cocky. Not even with over twenty years of experience. Especially not then.

I take a bottle of water from my backpack for a quick sip, then pour some to wash the dirt and blood off my scraped knee. My DIY protective leggings (patent pending) are great at making me look cool, but not great at protection seeing as the knee pad slides off so easily. And now I know how to improve it.

Can't wait to get back to my nasty apartment and make a new pair with the materials I've been hoarding. As the saying definitely goes, one person's trash is my treasure.

But first, the reason I came here: to see the old skatepark again. Goldenrod is sorely mistaken if they think I'm about to give up without a fight.

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My tired legs are struggling more than I care to admit.

After making it up the small incline, I step onto the sidewalk that separates the ghost town roads from the once vibrant meadow that had it all: my beloved park, basketball and tennis courts, a playground, all the space in the world for picnics, and beyond the trees in the distance, the city's idea of a beach.

Over the last few months, Goldenrod had it all fenced off with rusty chains holding "no trespassing" signs of questionable significance. Nobody lives here anymore. At best, some people pass through on their commute from the off-island suburbs.

Brittle grass stops my wheels from rolling as I approach the mesh fencing locking up the old skatepark. Nudging it only a little tells me it'd be piss easy to sneak in and have a quick sesh in the moonlight. That is, if they hadn't destroyed it beyond recognition.

If only the excavator parked next to it contained classified documents marked "secret plan, very evil" that I could use against Goldenrod. But the only dirt I can find is inside this giant hole they left behind.

At the risk of turning myself into a recent psychology grad's textbook case of denial, I can't shake the feeling that something's off.

Barely a month ago, I protested this park's closure. Now, it's gone. Goldenrod wasn't in such a hurry with the previous ones, nor anything they've shut down for that matter. Most of it remains untouched to this day.

I sit on the sidewalk, leaving the chained up benches alone. A satisfying click resounds as I unclip the metal plates holding my wheels to turn my skates into ankle boots for everyday use.

The blood running down my knee is slowly drying. If the hospital across the street wasn't abandoned, someone walking by might feel inclined to tell me to get the wound checked out.

Now that I think about it...

The only people I know still come here from time to time are vloggers getting footage of the allegedly haunted hospital. If Goldenrod wants to keep people away so bad, they'd be much better off telling people not to trespass over there.

I can't believe I fell for the clickbait the first time I saw it. Nothing happened, but that wuss kept acting like he was gonna get murdered. And then he had the nerve to jump-cut to himself walking home, making excuses about how his phone started acting up. Called it possessed. Sure, pal.

Two million views! For nothing! If I got even a fraction of that, I'd have a shot at paying rent for another month.

...Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no, no.

I can't seriously be considering this.

Even my earbuds are enabling this train of thought with a mischievous jazz track's piano section. Every note accentuates my not at all suspicious glances to make sure I'm alone. That's what I signed up for listening to the "video game music to commit and/or investigate crimes to" playlist. Who knows why the almighty algorithm recommended it to me.

In any case, the verdict is in: the coast couldn't be any clearer. If the universe is gonna lay things out for me like that, I might as well. After all, how am I gonna stick it to Goldenrod if I get evicted?

And with that, I'm off to the abandoned Something-or-Other Medical Centre!