“Oh, the skateboard man, the skateboard man, skateboarding down the road as fast as he can!” You sang to me while I walked down the alleyway. Before you broke out in song you had been raking gravel back and forth across the road, not collecting leaves or trying to get pieces of a broken bottle into a manageable pile; you were just raking rocks and dust while wearing a very comfortable looking ivory white sweat suit.

And I’m not sure why you began singing about my skateboard and me. Maybe you saw how upset I was and you wanted to cheer me up, or you were just looking for an excuse to play your rake like a guitar. Either way, I instinctively started to sing along and banged on my air drum-set like an Albertan Neil Peart, using my skateboard as an exaggerated drumstick. When we’d finished I thanked you and kept on down the road, face wet with tears, even more confused than before.