I'm fitting into place the rolls of insulation that will hopefully keep me warm this winter. The pink stuff looks and feels pliant enough. It's light and floppy and easy to stuff into the crevices I've created. The lurking devil, the wolf in pink clothing, is the insidious embedding of a thousand micro bits of glass, tucking themselves in my skin, waiting to wake me later on with an incessant itch. Yeah, this t-shirt is toast. Lentini is cutting the stuff to fit, I'm stuffing the stuff in. He is somehow unaffected. He has this weird constitution, Lentini. He can work for hours on end, talk for longer and he doesn't seem to sleep. I think he may be my opposite on the energy spectrum.
"Are we surfing in the morning?"
"Yeah, they opened back up the outer beach."
"Jesus, I haven't surfed in months."
"Ha, you're going to suck."
"Yep, hope my knees don't dissolve for good."
"When Dave and I skate we don't let anyone skate with us unless they've got kids. It's like if you don't have kids you have time to actually work on skatey
maneuvers. Like you've got 6 hours to work on a single trick. We've got maybe 30 minutes a week to roll around and fail."
"Heh, I wanna take a surf trip, all by myself, to some secluded right point break and just work the kinks out for a week. I wanna do it all alone and get back into surfing shape. I can't stand the thought of people seeing me kook out."
"Yep. That's why you gotta surf with surfers who don't surf."
Come witness the evolving product of somebody who actively pursues a surfing lifestyle. A heartwarming, eyeopening whodidit.
Picture Farm Gallery Tomorrow night, the 15th of August, 2013, 6ish to ten-ish. There will be good people, good times and good drinks (and maybe a taco truck!) with an after party drink special hoopla at
Crown Victoria around the corner.
