The wear free tires of a black sedan with government plates pulled into a street side parking spot. If you were a judgmental person, you would wonder what the hell the car was doing here. The first sense that was intoxicated was auditory, taken over by rock music and the distant cry of police sirens fighting to overpower one another. Hoots and hollers ceased, and every wheel of every skate board came to an abrupt halt. Even the music cut off the stream of 90’s punk rock anthems.

All eyes focused on the car until the door sprung open. First stepped out a slim middle-aged African American male. He was shortly followed by a man who received the status of “grandfather” before Motley Crue made it big. He was slightly shorter than the first man with white hair and chipmunk cheeks. Before the skaters had time to allow the appearance of the first two men to sink into their consciousness a third appeared only slightly younger than the second man and a bit more “out-to-lunch”, seeming almost entirely unbothered by his new surroundings.

The three men ventured towards the frozen kids. The youngest of the three was the first to stretch out his hand to one of the kids and say, “Hi son, I’m Barrack Obama. What’s your name?” The shaggy haired boy stepped back three steps and stared at his hand as though he were a leper before he looked at the stately man and said, “I ain’t your son, Osama!” McCain then took this as his opportunity to redeem him campaign amongst the younger crowd. “What’s up? How are you guys doing today?” “Tommy I think your Grandpa’s here to pick you up? Yelled a blonde headed boy who had stood at the top of the half pipe holding a rather worn skateboard.

The third man shrunk into the background in avoidance of the humiliation of his competitors. Obama regained his composure and spoke once again in his usual almost arrogant manner, “Now boys we are here with a specific interest in what direction you would like this country to progress. What would you like from us?”

Silence infested within the group. A tall thin boy walked towards Obama with a large gate. He had a hint a facial hair with no other redeeming qualities to his visage. He stopped about twenty feet in front of Obama and swung his arm in a belligerent manner. At the feet of Obama landed a skateboard. He eyes flicked towards the board and he shiny leather shoes stepped on top of it.The boy spoke for the first time, it was another hint that he was still prepubescent. “You, me, and whitey other there,” he said motioning towards McCain, “a game of chicken. I go first and then you do what I do. Sound good?” The two politicians made eye contact and nodded. “Sounds great, what is at stake?” “Whoever wins. We will vote for.” The crowd snickered.

Boards were quickly dispersed between the three of them. A ring of kids quickly gathered around the two men and their challenger. The boy’s pimples glistened beneath a layer of sweat in the sun; he hopped onto the skateboard and slip down into the bowl very smoothly. In a fluid motion almost like a surfer he glided up and down its surface leaving the comfort of the concrete and shooting into the air only to reconnect with it seconds later. It was no longer he and his skateboard, but they were one, joined in unison. After a giant leap his board fell into his hands and he landed a few feet in front of the intimidated politicians. “Your turn.” “Youngest go first,” said McCain with almost a laugh. “Good, gives me a chance to win some votes before you have a heart attack old man.”

Obama picked up his skateboard and headed to the ramp. He took a deep breath he crossed his hands in front of him almost in prayer and then kicked off with his back food. As he rolled towards the decline he leaned forward and his feet flipped over his head. He rolled down the remainder of the roll in a rather violent manner. When he came to a stop his he arm was bent at the elbow in an
uncomfortable manner.

When he thought his agony was over his skateboard collided with his skull with an unpleasant crunching noise. Blood and tears trickled down his face. Despite his injuries nobody rushed to help him. Stunned they stood until a few people flipped open their phones and began texting like crazy. One dialed 911. A few of the larger kids dropped into the bowl and moved him out of the way of McCain’s path.

Terrified of meeting the same fate at Obama but even more so of losing face McCain mounted his wooden stead. It was over before it started. After placing only one foot on the board it was swept out from under him landing him hard on his back rendering him unable to move. Sirens screamed and wailed, and carried the broken bodies of the two men off into the distance. The third man who had vacated the car approached the crowd of kids as they laughed and joked over the events.

“Salutations boys.”
“Who in the hell are you?”
“I am Ralph Nader, Presidential Candidate of the Independent Party.”
“No offense old man, but unless you want to meet the same fate at those two I would suggest you get out of here.” said the boy that had challenged the other candidates.

“Have no interest in riding the carcasses of dead trees, but I am extremely interested in wondering you kids have ever thought about what those do to the environment. In each of your hands you hold a dead tree. The very reason the rainforests are disappearing. Have you ever thought of a more green
friendly skateboard? Maybe made of plastic?” Mr. Nader never received his answer, at least not verbally. He was however shoved unceremoniously into a trash can and rolled down the half pipe only
to have the reason for global warming hurled at him.

“What dumbasses.” Said the boy, “I hope someone got this on camera, because they are going to feel pretty damn stupid when they realize none of us are even old enough to vote.”