17 August 2009. Mid-afternoon, flash of Oceanside on a summer's day. Salt breeze, warm sand, glittery sea. Endless wind-tossed waves, rolling endlessly in... Pepe (now this a long time back)--mop of blond hair, surfer's build, leaning forward over worn guitar--the narrow Spanish wood a pathway to other places, other times.
Infallible, maybe--like the palm-fronds plaited into beach hats--tropical isle--or blocks of whitish parrafin scraped across width of polyurethane board, peppery rick-rack for a better grip. Yes, power of the toes, turning left off the face of smooth green wave--five feet and glassy--powered higher and higher by some current unknown...
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