Or how about in your coping, etc.
Back when it was still morally acceptable to ride killer whales, I visited a now infamous sea-themed park to watch a skateboarding stage show called "City Streets". It had nothing to do with the ocean or the park's Southern California surroundings. Instead, an entire New York city block (or a perception of one) was constructed with a large concrete square to facilitate a day-glo, '80s, albeit, more effeminate version of a Jets vs. Sharks dance off.
The shining light in this sea of neon was an extremely mullet-tailed Filipino American skateboard freestyler and his attractive Caucasian wife/partner. Several non-skater schoolmates who'd already seen the show agreed that he ollied a bunch of random kids from the audience. As the show progressed, I wasn't too impressed with their safe synchronized routine and was sure that the audience still couldn't comprehend it. I'll admit Primo did get more speed than any freestyler and I was even more surprised when he pushed towards the BMX quarterpipe, kickturned 3/4 ways up, pumped back down towards the plaza, and impulsively hurdled over 4 kids laying on the ground. I knew it was too good to be true. As Primo chucked the "ollie" board behind something, I glimpsed at what looked like two Superbird lappers mounted topside (aka, "sky hooks") through the mounting bolts. Exiting the show, I noticed that the brownstones of the elaborate set weren't buildings at all, just facades. I couldn't help but think that even skateboarding's self-proclaimed "Ultimate Showman" couldn't be bothered to place magnets under the grip and in his soles.