Penguins not Sharks. The bikes, skate boards, and pennies warmed in the street. I glanced back to the ramps where he sat; his hair faced the table but was close enough to film the action when he turned around. Between glances, he jumped off the ramps and leaned against the porch to watch the ramp action. The little neighbor boy crashed. He tried to jump off the back edge of the ramps. “Please be careful.” “Be careful,” he repeated and scrunched down on the bike. I read my book on the swing. He gathered boys from all neighborhoods and lined them across the drive. After his hockey game, I picked him up a pizza with buffalo chicken along with spicy and ranch sauces for dinner. He quickly ate then grabbed his phone with clean hands. “Penguins not Sharks,” I said.
