They walk out the room and turn to the two parents who lay on the couch, blankly staring at the T.V., connected to the images being broadcasted at them through the few miles between the satellite dish in the driveway, and the ones circling high up in space; out of human reach.
“Hey dad, we’re going outside.”
“Why?”
“To, uh, skateboard.”
“It’s dark outside.”
“We’ll just be in the driveway.”
“Ok.”
The boys walked up the stairs, one carrying the skateboard, the other making damned sure that he kept his right pocket faced away from his parents so that the bulge of the box of cigarettes wouldn’t be seen. Once outside the one with the cigarettes turned to the other.
“Think they’ll buy it man?”
“Who cares?”
“Ight… hey man, light that up.”
“Alright.” Drag. Pass.

“You ever watch a satellite man?”
“No”
The two lay on the roof of the house. The moon was well into its waxing phase, only a sliver remained. Between them they passed a smoldering cigarette, 17 cents worth of tobacco they found in a half full box on the side of the road earlier that day. Drag. Pass.

Footsteps, a car, white line, cement, and a smashed frog. These were the nouns that described that walk. Hot, sunny; some adjectives for those that can’t form a picture with only nouns. They had walked to the gas station down the street to get something to drink, and to skate around on the cement across the street in front of the video store. The rest of the roads in This Town are gravel or asphalt, both a bad fall waiting to happen. This is kind of situation where Newton’s first law of Motion comes helps the two. If a passenger laden board with a person is going along, and the board comes to a abrupt stop due to a rock in its wheel, the person tends to keep going. Drag. Pass.

“It’s odd, they’re like these tiny specs of light moving through the sky. Like moving stars.”
“Planes do that too.”
“Man; you just got to see it to believe it.”
“Right oh.” Drag. Drag. Pass, no wait. Drag.
“Hey, that’s twice, make up your damned mind.” Pass

One of the boys was out in the parking lot, messing up trick after trick, with an excuse for each mistake. The other one was standing by the bulletin board of the hardware store.
“Damn man, there’s a flyer that says that they’re renting this horse out to breed with others to make the gene pool stronger.”
“It’s a horse prostitute.”
“Lucky bastard…Hey, check this out, here’s an ad for someone selling a broken tractor…” Drag. Pass.

“Check that box.”
“Why?”
“You never know.”
“Ight… damn…Stop dancing”
“It’s our lucky day man.”
Eight tubes of paper filled with nicotine laden weeds. Almost like the Twinkie that adults now eat because their metabolism slows and they know that a real Twinkie makes their body double in size. This is the same Twinkie that teens enjoy after having the kind that their parents buy exclusively for them; the joy of it. Drag. Pass.

“You know what’s funny?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“Man, hear me out, you might understand. Satellites are like our dreams. They’re out there, and we know they are. But the problem is, there is this intangible amount of space between us, and our elusive dreams. Dreams are like our satellites. Satellites are impossible to catch.”
“Yea, so making our dreams come true is like catching satellites?”
“Exactly.”
“That works I guess, it’s kind of a sad way to think about it though. I mean, we’re out here smoking ciggs looking at the sky, isn’t that a dream? If not a major one, but a dream nevertheless?”
“Yea... i can see that”
“So we caught one satellite, just a few more to go.” Drag. Pass.