Watch the skateboarder for a bit. See if she takes off her headphones.

The skateboard chick is oblivious to everything around her besides the asphalt. As you watch her slide and ollie, with the occasional fumbled kick-flip, you actually tune out the rest of the world too.

She moves the deck along the 8-inch high concrete flowerbed on the edge of the park's walkway, smooth and confident, but stumbles out of the landing, her board clattering to the ground beneath her. Her baggy cargo sweats sway as she walks to her board, and you can see her tight stomach muscles almost form a six-punch as she bends down to pick it up. When she looks up, she looks right at you, and slowly stops banging her head as you make eye contact.

She's a student, from the looks of it, just about your age. She's got dull brown hair cut messy, fanning out from the frayed edges of her grafiti-styled flat brim cap. She has a slender, almost gaunt face with pronounced cheek bones and bright pink lips, and just one of her ears pokes out through her hair.

She brushes her hair back, and stands, skateboard in hand. You don't break the eye contact, but you can't ask her a question from here anyway, not with her headphones on anyway. She starts bobbing to the music again, and pushes, rolling toward the corner of the nearest flower bed, glancing back over her should at you.

When her eyes leave you again, back to the asphalt, your own gaze drops to her round little butt, looking firm but still soft under her cargos, loose fitting everywhere except over the ass. She nails the next heelflip, looking smooth, her fit little body in control, until she goes for a grind on the concrete, but there's no rebar like the other side, just rough, harsh resistance, and she bails, launching the board a few feet before she gets back to her feet.

"You okay?" you ask automatically, though she's still out of earshot and wearing headphones. You give a couple thumbs ups to her, shrugging both shoulders as you do to ask if she's okay.

When she looks up at you, still not hearing, she sees your thumbs, and looks confused, until you wiggle them pointing downward and then back upward, in a thumbs-up or thumbs-down kind of a gesture, raising your eyebrows, making every indicator of a question. It's just an automatic courtesy, a common, unspoken check-in question. And she answers it, with a thumbs-up.