I wake at my namesake. Today is the day. Gold air, baby blue clouds. Sun on the rim like a blood line across the knuckle. I feel the board falling into the empty pool, churning my hairless gut. My big feet rise from earth. I’m king of that moment, only moment that matters. I was first to wake from the pile: Doug, Mike, Cory, Whisk. They reek. Smells like cheese food, b.o and the sins of commission in here. Someone’s music is still leaking out the earbuds. We planned to wake at dawn and damn here I am, the first to rise. The new park. They cut the ribbon yesterday. We’re going when it opens, before toddlers and chicken hawks. The structure is clean, perfect. Swims in fog like God’s own frying pan for my meat.  I stake my claim. No one believes me. Cory shakes his head and glides off, red hair under his beanie makes him look like an unlit match. He peels it off, the mullet flies free. No one thinks I can do it. I been falling, failing, cracking my head like an egg. But today I’m boneless; I’m vert; 360; rise, air, land. Today, I win everything. Everyone cheers. I open my eyes. I’m in a hotel room in Spokane. The dream. I’m sixty. Don.

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