On the sidewalk, looking up: Open Snap, went his fingers. Snap, his fingertips slipping with sweat from the muggy night air. He was dressed in a leather jacket- black- and a white Hanes tee beneath it. His black jeans were belted high, and his boots were black. It was sticky beneath his collar, sweat gathering at his nape and making the ends of his dark hair damp. Damp enough that the curl that had sprung against his forehead early into the night was plastered there now. Hey, no big deal. He was rockin' and rollin' and moving to the music that played from one loud street corner. Not bad, not bad, and he liked the bustle, man. This place was groovin,' and he was in a good mood.
It would be cool to find some buddies, but he was a lone wolf tonight. No rules, no curfew, nothing but hours ahead of him and a good breakfast at the diner come morning. He was planning for that breakfast. Three eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, toast, grits, and a stack of dollar pancakes. A milkshake too, chocolate malt, and something cool playing on the jukebox.
But that was for later. Right now was snap on a hot summer night, and a strut that he'd practiced in front of a mirror a whole bunch of years back. He slicked the side of his hair with one palm that slid back over hair-grease and sweat. Cool, man, cool, and he stopped in front of one of the taller buildings. The fire escape was rusty, but he wasn't afraid. Ask anyone, and they'd tell you he was fearless. Fearless, that should have been his middle name.
There was something hip happening up there on that roof, and his presence would make it even more hip than it was to begin with. Tonight was going to be a blast. You know what I mean?