Sparkleboy was riding high. Metric on the iPod, double shot of espresso in his veins, and a bright, sunshiney day with the wind in his hair — these were the kinds of things that amped him up to eleven. A smirk pulled at his mouth, and he let it go, creasing its way into a full smile at the thought of how others would consider Sparkleboy on overdrive to be too much of a good thing. There was no shortage of people who couldn’t even handle him at his normal levels.
Coming up on the playground, he double-quickstepped, and hopped up onto the climbers. Step, step, step, and he was on the top railing, staring down at the little children and their perturbed mommies, overprotective yuppie women in lululemon and Tom’s shoes who felt that grown men shouldn’t be playing in the same space as their precious children. He was setting a bad example, walking the railings like balance beams, instead of staying safely ensconced behind them on the platforms proper. Hah! He didn’t care.