Black grass, cool under my bare feet, and low, dark clouds, opaque like a shower curtain, divide us from the prying sky.A summer breeze saunters among us, wearing an after-shave of lawns recently mowed punching us in the shoulder playfully whispering in our ears lewd jokes filling our heads with fragments of other lives.We, four young men, naked, grinning with mischief, sweating from exercise, gasping for breath, stand tall atop the hill to survey our world (no longer suburbia). - a flash in his eye -"I'll race ya to the stop sign." - a grin pulled wider -The slapping of feet on hard pavement and the bang of a stop sign, reverberating from a strike of a winning hand, shout to the skies in rebellion laugh at the skies recklessly and silence the skies finally.Tonight, we steal the horizon.