When the gang first saw it, they were in awe.  The peak rears up out of the open ocean and breaks right and left but the left is longer and hollower and steeper.  Up the beach, to the right, the locals surf the first peak which is left also and has a channel to paddle out in.  Out at the Jetty, a long right breaks out of deep water down the jetty and all the way into the first peak.  The locals jealously guard this wave and threaten to maim anyone they catch surfing it.   No one surfs the big peak to the far left that breaks off a sunken shipwreck because this is where the swell focuses and pulses.   The paddle out here is too difficult, it takes an experienced waterman up to thirty minutes to get past the beach break out to the lineup where the waves crest.   No one surfs the peak except fools.   When Zucky first saw the break he exclaimed, “it looks like a huge washing machine,” hence its name that lingers onward into the twenty-first century.   “It’s the washing machine, zoom zoom.”

This Saturday at five in the morning, Kool, Playboy and the Wracks gear up for a visit to the strand and the washing machine.   Wracks has a new 4mm super suit with a spigot to inflate with air when you are drowning, Kool has a red rocket seven-foot eight-inch pintail shaped by Rdick and Playboy has another potato chip gun because he is a team rider and Wracks has his homemade six-foot eight-inch three fin inspired by Craig Wilson of Makaha and relayed by the Lu—ay.     Wracks glassed two trailer fins on his Wilken Meth model so he has one too.   Up the PCH past point zero and Sakis and the big rock into the Nards and the turnoff on Channel Islands boulevard to Mandalay and the Strand.   The Pang-oh gang heard of this creation of God probably from Kool and they with their girls and their vans and the four-speaker cassette players line up at the store on the beach for provisions before the go out.  Yeah says WW who is dressed in a mink coat and spent the whole night dancing and partying and the girls are in mini skirts with trench coats to brace themselves from the cold offshore wind flowing outward from the agricultural valley.

Let’s walk down the beach and check it out says the Wracks

I have to finish my beer and get a new smoke says Kool

Let me put on my jacket says playboy.

The white sand with grey flecks in it is cold to the feet and the three get a first glimpse at 6 thirty am of the washing machine with a hard offshore wind.   A huge wave rears up out of the open ocean and grows and crests and then breaks left down the beach like the pipeline on Oahu.   Another breaks, then another, and the ocean near shore turns into seething white froth. 

It is at least ten foot says Playboy, I can’t tell because it is so far out

I don’t go left that well says the Wracks, I am a Malibu boy

You are going to learn today says Playboy.   I hope you learn fast.

I love lefts says Kool.   Big lefts and fast lefts, spitting.

They run back to the car and everyone is gearing up.  Wracks brought a bar of super psychedelic Sugarman surf wax and they share the bar as they wax their boards. 

Remember to time the sets says Playboy.   Don’t paddle out till the last wave of the set hits the sandbar or you will never get out.  I forgot to tell you, this place swarms with great white sharks.   If you see one just paddle into shore, they only hit something that is stationary. 

The waves carve a huge ledge of sand from the beach to the break and everyone jumps off into the surf.

Remember to time the sets.

A four wave set hits the sandbar and huge peaks break churning into the shallow sandy beach water The peak waves hit every fifteen minutes.   The Wracks wades into the spinning shallows and steps on something that moves out from under his feet.   A set hits and the Wracks starts paddling as fast as his body will let him.   Luck favors him and a small set begins to break just as the Wracks clears the inner waters and spray shoots out from his board as he barely lurches over the top.  He continues to paddle because he doesn’t want to be caught inside and face a long swim in shark infested waters.  He sits outside of his friends and notices that he is long way out.   A huge set hits and he sees Playboy scratching for the horizon on his purple gun so the Wracks takes the first wave and goes right towards the shipwreck and he barely gets into it because of the offshore and he drops and drops and drops and makes his bottom turn going faster than he ever has his whole life.  Shooting towards the top of the waves the centrifugal force glues him to the top of the wave then he spurts out of it in the impact zone.  His friends were not lucky, they got cleaned up by a huge set and are swimming in.  The set must have been twenty feet high.  Not only is it an arduous task to paddle out at the Washing machine but out in the lineup cleanup sets come out of nowhere and drown anyone brave enough to challenge mother nature.  The waves are at least four times overhead and no one can tell standing directly on the shore.

The Wracks flounders in the white water, times the sets and paddles out again.   He catches a mid-sized left tube and drops and turns backside and trims and the tube catches up to him and it is lights out.   Using the backstroke to get to shore quickly, the Wracks retrieves his board and sits on the ledge in the sand.   Kool drops down a huge monster, fades and turns and gets a ride like you see on TV and then he pops out the back and scratches for the open ocean and doesn’t make it.   A huge wave slams down on top of him, his board is free and he is swimming.   Playboy gets a nice left and kicks out in time and so does BA on his NP gun.   Wracks time the sets and goes out one more time.    He catches a huge wave at the peak, goes to the bottom and turns, rockets to the top and hits a white shark on the back, and is stopped dead cold in the water.  He saw the huge shark and couldn’t turn because he was going so fast he hopes the shark is not mad and doesn’t come and get him as he freestyles towards the beach as fast as he can. 

That’s enough for me today says the Wracks.   I don’t want to press my luck.

He watches his friends get a couple more rides and then the wind turns hard offshore, it is 11 thirty and the session is over. 

That was the hardest paddle out I have ever experienced says playboy

I got a big left tube says Kool.   Big and round

I ran over a shark says the Wracks and am still alive.   

Good session says, Playboy.   Let’s head home

The white and yellow Volkswagen camper with blaring tuned exhaust heads south after the boys raid the local dairy for fresh chocolate milk and donuts.  Playboy and Kool sit up front and share something smoking and the Wracks lays supine in the back with a rug and the surfboards covering his body.

Time flies by and soon he is home on Bacon land and he unloads his board and suit and thanks Playboy for the ride.   He goes inside and his father sits in the green chair and smokes and asks him

Where have you been?

I went surfing up in the Nards

Did you have a good time

I caught some big waves and ran over a shark and it didn’t eat me

You have a fervent imagination says Father Wracks.

I couldn’t believe it either because it was where the waves are breaking

It probably was a huge piece of driftwood says father Wracks

Driftwood doesn’t swim says the Wracks

Whatever says father Wracks, take a warm shower and continue your studies.

I will says the Wracks, I am really tired

The Washing Machine is still there.   It breaks three times bigger than any break near it on a northwest swell.   No one surfs it because the paddle out is too arduous and difficult.  There is a little convenience store on the strand that lets you park there if you buy food from them.  Later Wracks would drive up there and watch solo,  no one else on the beach with ten to fifteen-foot waves every day, and a couple of times he went out alone.  And time moves on and the past is gone and now Wracks doesn’t surf anymore.  It was just another Saturday in the past.   

Let’s go, says BG.  I have to make a run up to SB and visit some friends. Are you in?

Sure, says Wracks. Can I bring my board? 

We are going to surf Hammonds reef, says BG. This place exists as the secret spot of SB and only locals get to visit there.  Tag along and I will show you why.

Let me get my stuff, says Wracks.   I always wanted to surf Hammonds reef but never knew where it is.

The colony situates on the beach, north of the Con and its existence shrouds by a huge strand of tall trees that obliviate notice of its existence.  Bates Hammon owns the hotel at the hill overlooking the little corner.  Keep your mind open and don’t say anything and you will get by.  

A wrack grabs his grocery bag and loads the usual stuff of a surf adventure with BG.  In the sack goes American cheese, a loaf of bread, cans of coke, an apple and a pack of cigarettes.   Wracks scoops some change up from the change pail in Dad’s room and says goodbye to Grandma.  She sits in the green recliner in her bathrobe watching a small color television set with Lawrence Welk reruns,  smiles,  and waves her hand in the air without looking.  Wracks throws his blue south bay pintail gun in the car and the hatchback closes with a clang.   Thrown in with thinking, the NP bright blue full suit wetsuit double layer nylon goes in the trunk.  A wrack enters the car, seats shotgun, buckles up the shoulder harness, and the car accelerates into the early day coolness off the pacific coast highway. 

We are going to take M. canyon road up to the 101 and get to Ventura faster than taking, the coast route, says BG. Hold on to your hat.   Light me up a cigarette, says BG as he motions with his right hand. 

Wracks grabs a gold Pall Mall Cigarette, pushes in the car lighter, pulls the lighter from the socket and burns the new cigarette with the glowing red coil.  Wracks hands the cigarette to BG, s open hand and BG takes a long drag and blows the smoke out his nostrils like a flaming dragon. 

Good draw, says BG, hold on to your hat.   Wracks  puts a Jim Hendrix album, Electric Lady land into the cassette player that swings on a Pod off of the console above the manual shift. They both smoke and the car rockets in the fast lane of the 101 with the rear vent open and smoke streaming out in a long trail.

How does your car go so fast, asks Wracks, I thought it only has a four cylinder engine?

I put model plane fuel in the gas tank, says BG, it has nitro methane in it like a dragster.  It really makes your car go. 

Entering the PCH at California Street from the 101, the green car merges into the flow and soon the little corner comes into view on the left as a long point sticking out into the Pacific Ocean with a bunch of houses inside.  The front houses have forward viewing rooms with telescopes to watch the ocean with. 

The big sign says, “Winter land next turnoff,” and BG veers the car off and down into a private road that disappears into a strand of trees in a heathen wood and white pillared gate.  The thick steel gate pillars opened as if the two are expected.  BG enters slowly, cautiously in first gear, looking for someone, something or at least a signal.    Large southern mansions with cypress borders and green lawns abut majestically, and green lawns with Rolls Royce automobiles fill the driveways. 

What is this place, asks wracks, It is like the New Orleans ride at Disney land done in Hollywood.  Who owns those cars?  The richest people in Central California maintain a house here at Winter Land.  They do not like outsiders, says BG.   Don’t move quickly and do not pretend you are taking pictures and they will not molest you. 

BG goes to the back of the car, lifts open the hatchback and pulls a small briefcase from the wheel well where the spare tire lives.  He examines the case, closes the hatchback, and starts walking towards the driveway of the biggest southern mansion in the colony.

Sit in the Car and stay put, shouts BG without looking back.  I shall be back soon.

BG walks up the flat white driveway with the suitcase, goes to the front door, knocks, the door opens and BG enters and disappears.  The huge door looks like it fabricates out of oak with brass fixtures and lists at an impressive eight feet high with windows on top.  Wracks sits in the car and about fifteen minutes later, BG reappears with another person who has wavy brown hair and stands at about the same height as BG. 

My name is Kip, says the man.  Nice to meet you.  Park in my driveway and surf the reef, it is about six feet today.  He turns and leaves.

BG starts the car and pulls it in to the driveway of the huge southern mansion.  The house looks wet and moss and cypress hang in strands from the rafters of the domicile.  Wracks and BG strip in their Druid Robes and walk to the strand where the reef lies.  Hammons reef looks like a semi point with a wave that peaks up at the small point.  A large conglomeration of stones form a reef and the wave rears up like a pipeline type wave tubes and then turns into a long shoulder wave that breaks down the point. The surf runs inconsistent today and BG and wracks surf for about two hours and get some good rides. The wave peaks up at takeoff and the drop feels critical and the acceleration feels positive.  Seaweed grows everywhere and Wracks long fin catches the weed as he takes off on steep bowling waves.  Super glassy, good takeoff and rip able face categorize the reef.

I feel sharks, says Wracks, where are they he asks BG

All the houses have septic tanks and the sewage attracts them, says BG. They are well fed.  I have never been chased in.

Bg takes a set wave in and Wracks feels the feeling and his hair stands up on his head and he hurriedly paddles in on a small inside wave.  A wrack exits the break on the boulders in waist deep water and turns to look back at the water.  The kelp bulges and undulates but no fin appears and Wracks continues his exit up the beach back to the mansion. GB is changing and his green robe and fit in perfectly to the place, time and situation.  The Wracks puts on his blue robe and strips off the blue wetsuit and tosses it in his duffle bag.  They both stow their gear in the hatchback and Wracks grabs his chow bag and enters the passenger side of the car.

Can I have some food, asks GB. 

Sure says Wracks, I will make you a sandwich

A wrack takes two slices of American cheese and peels off the cellophane. He inserts the cheese in-between two pieces of bread.  BG takes the sandwich and shoves half of it into his mouth and bites and his eyes roll back in his head like a big shark. 

Throw me a coke, intones GB.  I am late for work. 

GB finishes the sandwich, shakes the coke can and pulls the tab in front of his mouth while holding the can upside down.  The coke spurts into his mouth like a fire extinguisher and the can empties in two seconds. 

That was good, says BG let’s get home.  Light me a smoke.

Wracks pushes in the cigarette lighter and lights a cigarette for GB. BG takes a huge draw, puts the car in gear, expels the smoke out of his nose, and accelerates.  The two adventurers pull outside of the gate at a fast clip and exit winter land.  A wrack turns back to wave goodbye and sees the gate already has closed and a huge bolt holds it closed and off limits to everyone.  Everyone except GB and Wracks, just GB and wracks. 

The most epic wave in SB reveals as Hammonds reef.  Hard west Swells funnel through the gap lying between Santa Rosa and San Miguel in the channel islands and focus on Hammonds.  The reef at Hammons can hold any size swell and when the reef works, everyone in SB, SM, and the central coast go there and try to get in.  The wave builds up like a huge A-frame peak and throws out top to bottom at thirty feet.  Be aware, the water brims with sharks that smell the septic tank waste filtering directly into the break from the colony on shore.  Wracks felt them there. 

We will be back, says BG.  They like you.

Who likes me, asks the wracks. 

Them, says Bg.  Don’t talk anymore, I am in cruiser mode.  We will come back up next shipment.

Nitromethane fuel makes a car go really fast, thinks Wracks.  Maybe I should buy a can for my motorcycle when I go riding, he thinks. 

The long two-hour ride to SB goes by quickly and Wracks finds himself moving by the self realization center up moonrise Boulevard toward tranquil hills and the Death star.    Like usual, his dog waits for him at the gate and barks and Wracks unloads his gear and board and GB pets punk and gets back in his car. 

Thanks for the ride GB, says wracks

Anytime, says GB and he rockets off again. 

A wrack reenters reality through the kitchen door into the world of electric ranges, refrigerators, microwave ovens and home life.  Mom is home and asks wracks if he wants some food and dad works at his second job downtown, teaching business at night at the College there.  Wracks sits down and has some more of the stewed chicken that he lives on made with onions, green peppers, tomatoes, garlic, chicken quarters and a little bit of love.  Reality is not what it seems.  Reality is people, people who love you and make significant contributions to a person’s personality because everyone ultimately becomes something and the best trained and most loved rise to the top.  Like a family doctor once told Wracks.  You don’t have to worry because cream always rises to the top, the very top.  The day ends once more and books open and the lights focus and sleep overtakes the mind and the darkness interludes and sweet bliss of dreams hold the respite in this the living of life.  Dreams behold in the darkness of the night.

Wrack is sitting in Grandpa’s green recliner.  The chair grandfather would sit in before he died.  Wrack studies history in Summer school.  Taking classes at the local community college costs less than a University and the perquisites need to be fulfilled are cheaper. GB opens the front door and walks into the house and into the living room where Wrack sits on the green chair and reads a history book that weighs five pounds and looks like a phone book.  The history is American history from inception to 1945. “A southern hemisphere southwest swell is about to hit with ten to fifteen-foot waves on south-facing beaches,” exclaims BG as he waves his arms in earnest.  “I had a smoke at the lookout last night and the ocean seems flat as a board.”  Says Wrack.  “I have sources,” says GB. “What sources,” intones wrack.  “Good sources,” says GB.  “What good sources,” questions Wrak.  “Secret sources I cannot disclose.”  Insists BG.  “It is eight o’clock now.  Let’s go check the Bu.”  Get your stuff and bring some of your Dad’s cigarettes.  “History bores me anyway, “says Wrack. 

     Down the Marquee street, past the self-realization center with a swami dome stuck in secluded madness and on to the PCH goes Wrak and GB. This morning shows summer as the water looks green and the smell of sea weed and crustacean fill the air pushing into the green General Motors economy-car with a hatchback and Michelin high-speed tires.   Up past the Sealion and then Alice’s restaurant where you can get anything you want.  Drop right in around the back,  its only twenty miles from the railroad tracks.  Anyone can get anything they want at Alice’s restaurant and the mixed drinks taste good too.  The booths look directly into Malibu first and second point and when the sun sets, the restaurant lights up in color until nightfall.  Pulling into the parking lot BG and Wrak witness the current state of wave height and conditions.  A slight south wind makes the waves look weak and crumbly, kind of like broken cookies.  The waves appear a disjointed two to three feet at best.  “BG, you told me that a huge south swell is hitting now and the Bu breaks like weak mush in a porridge bowl.  “My sources are A1,” says BG. “Let’s go surf San Clemente.  I know the swell will be hitting there.”  “But the drive to San Clemente lasts about two hours,” says Wrak. “Even if the waves break big the coast will be blown out by twelve o’clock. “  “No it won’t, “say GB. “If you drive with me, this time you do not have to pay for the gas.”  “Why not, let’s go.” settles Wrack.   The green Chevrolet econocar revs up and BG patches out of the parking lot.  “Light me a cigarette.” orders BG, “I am driving.”

               After driving southward to San Diego a thousand times the route becomes monotonous and the sites breeze by at an incredible speed and time lapses until the destination looms upward in sight. From the one to the ten to the five and then off at Christianitos Ave. in San Clemente, the time flies by at seventy-five to eighty miles per hour.  “I still get twenty miles to the gallon flat out,” smiles GB.  A secret parking lot off the main street becomes the final resting spot for the two north county surfers looking for the perfect wave and the endless summer in a youth they both know will end soon.  “No one comes this way, “says BG. “They are too lazy to walk in.  The locals sneak into the south entrance and frequent Lowers never looking north to where the two true gems of the trestle lie.  “They hide in the brush with varmint rifles and sight on each other,” says BG.  The trail from the secret parking lot underneath the trestle and onto the first point reveals as a dusty path amongst scrub vegetation across a lagoon and onto a beach strewn with small pebbles of odd sizes smoothed by the constant action of waves on matter.  Now the two surfers are close enough to see the water and the waves are at least fifteen feet high.  When a wave gets big, the size of the swell becomes hard to estimate.  Surfers discuss wave height in terms of body length, one body length being six feet.  At the Cotton’s point the waves are at least three times overhead.  “I told you so,” screams Bg.  “It is three times overhead and churning.  Let’s go surf some rights first at Uppers.  Wrack hugs his yellow anti-meth model.  His friend John was drunk when he shaped the blank and put the meth model template on backwards.   The result becomes a seven foot seven mini-pin gun with square rails and a seven and one half inch fin in shark tasty yum yum neon yellow. Against all odds known to man the board rides beautifully and does not spin out in large surf. Wrack starts singing, “Every girl likes a sharp dressed man,” just like ZZ top.  Uppers roar huge with a peak and a huge throw-out inside section daring the intrepid to make or die and swim.  GB has a new gun. “I took it off the rack and Robbie shaped it,” smiles BG.  “Big Uppers, how delightful. “  Compared to the washing machine up at The Strand, the paddle out at Uppers remains a cake walk.  Both surfers time the sets and scratch out to the peak.  “Line up with the last trestle,” exclaims BG, “Then make the drop.”  A huge set of waves pops up on the Horizon.  BG likes to take the first wave of a set. He turns and paddles furiously and disappears with the hiss of a cresting huge wave.  Wrak scratches out and the second wave is three feet bigger and Wrak is too far out but exerts against the odds and is in to a giant and the run is on.  At large size, uppers yields a soft take off compared to Pipeline, but the wave then hits the cobblestone point and no time exists to turn back into the wave, only to turn at the bottom and go as fast as possible.   Wrack mistimes the huge inside section and chickens out. A huge lip starts to fall ten feet in front of the nose of his board.   He exits off the top and shoots his board upward so the wave cannot trap it.  Wrak is safe and scrambles to his board and starts the scratch to safety. Wrack paddles out to the lineup and finds the last trestle to align.  He sits on his board waiting for BG to return.  GB rode the first wave almost to the sand and now walks up the point to re-launch again at the impact zone. Something juts out of the water behind him and Wrak is scared.  A huge Great White comes up, opens its mouth, and licks Wrack. Wrack prays.  The huge twenty-foot Great White shark slides back into the water and is gone.  “GB, a huge monster just came up and kissed me,” screams Wrak. “Don’t get excited.” Drones BG.  “If it was hungry, it would have taken you. Lightning does not strike twice in the same place.”  “I hope it kisses you too,” whines Wrack.  For three hours the two are the only ones out in the water in triple overhead Uppers. The locals are lazy and wave after wave pours through the peak and into the cobblestone point.  “I cannot move my arms anymore.” Says Wrack.  “Let’s go in and surf the lefts at Cotton’s  point.” Says GB.  “Did you bring your canteen?”  “Yes, “says Wrack “But I saw someone walk over to it on the beach.  “What did they look like,” says BG “He looked small and with blond hair but that was all I could see, “says Wrak.  “I know who it is, “says BG.

               Ten minutes of walking north of Uppers is Cotton’s  Point.  The point reveals as a left jutting beach set out into the water.  There lie rocks on the beach just like uppers.   The wave at fabric point at large size shows as a huge triangle peak like Sunset Beach Hawaii.  The largest waves then hit the point and break in a tubing fashion all the way to the beach. For some reason, Uppers breaks bigger then Cottons but Uppers breaks right and Fabric breaks left and goofy foots love left breaking tubular waves.   “I am too tired,” says Wrak.  “I will watch you and be lifeguard.”  “How do you have so much energy,” asks Wrak.  “My arms ache from exertion.”  “Performance powder,” says BG. I use performance powder.  “He launches out from the rocks into the exploding surf.  BG caught three huge triangle peaks at Fabrics.  He descended straight off, bottom turned, arced off the top and then again and would kick out before the inside beach break and paddle furiously to get back to the takeoff point.  “Let’s go.” Says GB.  “I want to surf the glass off at the Bu.”  The pair jogs back up to the secret parking lot at Christianitos.   Youth and vitality are wasted on the young and the two gorge on brown bag food, pack the gear and head north at warp speed.  “Light me a smoke,” says GB.  “I need the nicotine.”  “I told you so, I told you so. Don’t forget I told you so.”  The econocar fills up with smoke and Wrak sips his red sugar coke and the machine rockets northward.

               “Are you sure we have time,” questions Wrak.  “I want to nab a few waves at the Bu just as the swell hits.”  Says GB “If we miss the traffic, we will be in Malibu by six thirty P.M.”  Sometimes the Northwest wind which flows through Malibu in the afternoon every day abates for the good and the faithful. At two P.M. in the summer every summer the Bu glasses.  At six thirty, Surf rider beach breaks six to ten feet high with a slight north wind which is offshore in direction.  The tide ran out and the rocky point shows like a huge bingo board and the waves break forest green tubes with misting lips flying down the point like a big machine.  Everyone and their mother are out in the water.  The waves break six to ten feet spitting low tide tubes and the sun sets as a yellow orange fusion orb set in a blue sky with wispy clouds and the island of Catalina illuminated in the distance.  If Poseidon himself came up to greet the world, he never would be noticed among the beauty, intensity and uniqueness of a glass off at the Bu in the summer, at low tide and spitting ten foot tubes. “I have my sources,” says BG as he turns his eyes up into his head. “I have my sources.”

      Out in the water Wrak sits by himself outside, like always, waiting for a big set wave.  For some reason, a terrifically tall left  peak looms up out of nowhere at the shift and Wrak surfs left at a right point.  “Just like Pipe, thinks Wrak, “Just like Pipe.”  The sun sets and the ocean drowns in  the orange red light with green-blue fullness.  “Let’s go now or you walk home.” Insists BG “I have to go to work.”  “Where do you work,” asks Wrak.  “In the city,” insists Bg, “In the city.”  Unloading the equipment at the house of Wrak again for the zillion times happens.  The boards are bounced on the ivy and suits thrown over the fence.  “Wash my wet suit in cold water,” commands GB “O.K. says Wrak.  “Thanks for the ride. “  BG takes the hose and gives himself a shower behind the fence near the trashcans and dresses quickly from a satchel bag, wave goodbye bye and is gone, again.  Wrak walks into his house and the little orange platinum terrier spins around and yelps.   “Hi Punkin,”  “I am home. Where is everyone.”  “Your mom and dad are out.” Says grandma.  “There is some chicken in the refrigerator.”  Wrak makes coffee and eats the chicken then takes a shower then falls unconscious in his bed. His last thoughts are: “triple overhead surf at Uppers all to myself.”  Wrack probably smiles as he sleeps because few are on the scene at the right place, at the right time, anytime during their life.  Wrack was there.  The swell peaked overnight and the Bu was not as good the next day.  Surfers know that when the waves beckon, they must entrain or the moment passes unfulfilled.  This reality stilts the life of wave riders who must decide whether to follow the tides or walk away forever.  Wrak sleeps in the grey house on Bacon way down from Enchanted way and close to the green house on the corner unknown until the present day.

We live in a metal age.   Cars, airplanes, guns, tools, and nearly everything have some metal in it.  This includes food.   The problem with metal is; if you eat it, the metal accumulates in your body cells, you age, get weak and die.   The secret to a long life is avoiding the intake of metal.   The establishment preserves foods with iron, lead, and antimony to prevent bacterial epidemics but alas, the metal accumulates in your body, and a human senesces and then dies.  Some metals are worse than others.   Some are almost innocuous except they accumulate in the cells and slowly block cellular enzymic processes. The most innocuous are aluminum and copper.  The worst are arsenic, chromium and mercury.   The rest lies in-between.   It would be best for mankind if foods were preserved with zinc for sweet foods and magnesium for salty foods.  The following is a brief list of metals, the diseases they cause, and annotations from the author’s mind.  The fact derives from Wikipedia and Cotrans- Clinical Pathology, the rest is conjecture. 

Most extremely toxic metals have a plus two valences in the ionic stage and mimic in the body the two most important chemicals that govern cellular metabolism or body makeup: magnesium and Calcium.   However, these metal ions known as divalent cations readily oxidize to a higher valence state and act as bleach like agents in the body.  These worst are Arsenic, Chromium, and mercury. 

Arsenic is a deadly poison in both its metal form and ionic entity.   It poisons the Krebs TCA cycle and causes death.  Chronic amounts from long-term ingestion cause cancer of the skin, bladder and lungs.  Arsenic is a plentiful element and easy to obtain

Chromium exists in several valent states and acts as a strong oxidizing agent in the tissues.  The inclusion of chromium picolinate in vitamins is madness.  Chronic exposure to chromium causes kidney, liver and blood cell failure and in smaller doses generates autoimmune disease.   

Mercury although rare unless obtained by new millennium man and administered poisons the brain, kidney, and lung severely causing death.  Chronic sublethal administration is associated with type 2 diabetes.

The next metals are the not so worse metals that find their way in quantity into the mouth of modern man.   These are iron, nickel and other transition metals on the periodic table of elements.   Some are horrible and beyond the scope of this discourse, the current medical establishment regard iron and nickel as health food and include them in vitamin preparations.  All the iron or nickel a person need is found in meat products and nuts and seeds.  Iron in high concentration causes diabetes of the pancreas and in low concentration accumulates in the liver causing hemochromatosis.   Iron in hemoglobin exists in the plus three valence state or ferric.   The administration sells iron in pills in the plus two or ferrous state so go figure.  Cobalt used by beer makers to give a good head of foam on a glass causes Beer drinker cardiomyopathy leading to heart failure and heart transplant.  There exist other transition metals that are far more sinister. 

Next are the heavy metals, lead, antimony, and selenium.     They are called heavy metals because they inhabit the left and bottom side of the periodic table.    When ingested, they are absorbed because they evidence a plus two valence, but because they are heavy atoms they accumulate and by the mass effect of Avogadro kill cells.    The heavy metals accumulate mainly in the brain and the kidney, organs that show very little cell growth in their terminal differentiation. With Prolonged and repeated exposure to heavy metal causes pre-senile dementia and renal failure.   According to the acts of God, it is a race to what gets destroyed first, the brain or kidney.   Hypertension is the kidney, organs body signaling the mind that the kidneys are poisoned with lead.  Antimony said to be non-toxic and used as a preservative because it is a heavy metal that accumulates just like lead.   Selenium now heralded to be a growth factor and included in today’s multiple vitamins is a heavy metal and accumulates.   A diet that includes vegetables provides enough selenium a body needs. 

Last and not least are the trans-uranic elements.   Provided a geography all their own on the periodic table and called the lanthanide series; Uranium and its sisters are extremely heavy and accumulate everywhere including bone.  Uranium daughters or half life products like radon cause lung cancer due to absorption of gamma emission and free radical formation.  The trans-uranic sister elements fission spontaneously generating extreme amounts of energy literally cooking the DNA is cells resulting in cancer.  Thorium is indicated in producing chronic endogenous depression relegating the afflicted to lifelong psychiatric care.  Plutonium fissions spontaneously or disintegrates into lead.   With the military making armor plating and shell casings out of depleted uranium, the case load of bone cancer, renal failure and post- traumatic stress disorder will maximize and the Veterans facilities will reach maximum capacity. 

What is the cure asks the gentleman in the boobie hatch?     The cure is chelation.   Chelation therapy with BAL, EDTA, and other agents can rid the body of metal.   The drawback is, is that this cure is expensive and lengthy.    Chelation courses lasting ten years or more are necessary for a lifetime of ingesting metal.   Is the government going to pay for this?    The affluent millionaire doctors will benefit from a plethora of chronic patients that need lifelong therapy.   The money-grubbing professionals will go to the bank and cash their paychecks that the administration creates from the policy of preserving food with metal and creating a workplace filled with metal fumes and dust.  May God deliver us from evil and let the people in a position of power and in the know create a society of long-lived patriots.

Mom and Dad, I hear someone in the house says Wracks

It is your Godfather says mom, ask him what he wants.

It is late at night, probably after 12 and the moon is gone for another month Wracks exits the hall, enters the family room, and turns on the light. 

Hello Wracks says the Godfather, how are you tonight

I am fine says the Godfather who dresses in dark clothes and black shined loafers.

I have some business on this side of town says the Godfather.

What kind of business is in the dark after 12 AM says the Wracks?

I have to meet someone says the Godfather.  Just business.  Your grandmother gave me a key to your front door.   She bought your parents this house.   Anything good in the refrigerator so I can make myself a meal.

Yes, says Wracks.   There is some chicken and a baked potato you can have.

Thanks, says the Godfather.   There is something I want you to do.

What is that asks Wracks?

I want you to get married have a career and start a family.  There is no such thing as easy money.   Easy money has strings attached.   Do you understand?

Kapiche says the Wracks

The Godfather smiles sits down and begin to enjoy his meal. 

Don’t do anything your heart tells you is wrong.   Don’t get eyes bigger than your stomach

I won’t says Wracks

You go back to bed.   I have to leave soon and will close up the house.  I hope to see you again.

The Wracks can’t remember if the Godfather came back at night and if he did, he didn’t wake up the house.   His father would get home at 11 PM at night from his second job, smoke a cigarette, and then go to sleep.  Time moves on and Wracks grows up Grandmother moves in and takes his room and he moves in with his brother and gets into fights. 

At his confirmation at the Catholic church where Wracks becomes a soldier of Christ and takes an affirmation of solidarity until death, he saw the Godfather again.   He was sitting in the back of the church with his wife.  He wore a dark worsted suit with a white carnation in the left lapel.  After kneeling in front of the bishop at the altar and kissing his ring, Wracks saw him and he smiled and waved at the Wracks.   His mission was completed; he saw Wracks safely into adulthood.   Soon he would die of a heart attack with his friend in an orchard. A glass of wine, Wracks thought, a glass of wine.

Remember, keep your enemies far away and hold your friends close says the Godfather.

Later on in life, Wracks saw funny movies that got academy awards for best picture and best actor based on his Godfather. They depict him as a violent man cast into a corrupt world, but he has a religious background.  The Godfather was not a big, dark-haired, swarthy gangster with dark skin, rather he is medium height, built like a European with brown hair and freckles. 

The Godfather the Wracks knew was a decent man and a man that taught him the facts of life and the difference between right and wrong.   He was a man who would employ people, convicts, and others that society relegates to the trash can.   He was a man who built an empire and united the families as one.  To all the sacrosanct, holier-than-thou hypocrites and haters that decry anyone who will not make them money, let this serve as an example.   Life is not black or white, it comes in shades of grey.  As lady justice says to Wracks, the balance favors the side of the righteous. 

Wracks is older now and looks back.    The stars are the same but change position in the sky.   Orion the hunter presides over the winter schema in the heavens and gives the Wracks something to look forward to every starry night.  In the central valley in Northern California the nights are cold in the winter but most of the time the atmosphere is clear.   He did not get a chance to teach his children what the Godfather taught him because his wife wouldn’t let him.  Let it be written that the only one in the world who would teach Wracks religion and belief in God was the prince of thieves.  

.

The Wracks has his own bedroom now because he doesn’t get along with his brother the Fonz.  The Fonz periodically hauls off and punches him.   Now he has his own bedroom with an oak framed bed with cotton sheets and a big picture window looking out into the garden.  Late at night the Wracks falls asleep in his bed a long time ago, under the light of the moon, in the little big town of tranquil hills.  Sleep overtakes Wracks and then he awakes to see a face illuminated by a flashlight at the foot of his bed. 

Hello, I am your Godfather Corleone.  I held you in my arms when you were baptized at Saint Monica’s church.  How are you tonight, Wracks.

I am fine says Wracks, what are you doing this late at night.  

I had some business in the neighborhood tonight and I thought I would stop by and say hi.

Your father and mother are asleep and they know I come by from time to time.

I just want to talk to you and tell you a little bit about my life.  

The first thing I want to tell you is there is no such thing as easy money.   All easy money has strings and a person gets entangled in the strings.  Kapiche?

“Kapiche” says the Wracks.

The second thing I want to tell you is to never hit a woman no matter what they do.   They are crazy and hysterical.   

I won’t say Wracks.

The third thing I want to tell you is if anyone shows you a gun, they are planning to shoot you with it and to have nothing to do with them.  “Kapiche”.

“Kapiche” says the Wracks.

Go to church and thank God for every day he gives you here.      I have to get going.   I have some business in town I have to attend to.   Go back to sleep and don’t tell any of your friends what I told you tonight.  He then got out of his chair at the foot of the bed and silently and efficiently left the room until the latch on the door made a subtle click.

This was all I saw of my Godfather because he was a busy man and setting up shop in Las Vegas.  It wasn’t till much later when I was mature and older did, I realize what he really did for a living and what the word “Kapiche” really means.   The Wracks remember the Godfather who came to his first communion at Corpus Christi Church wearing a grey pinstripe suit, a black tie, a white carnation in the lapel of his suit, and hand-brushed black leather slip-on shoes.   He shook the Wracks hand and with the other put a twenty-dollar bill in his front shirt pocket. 

Wracks, wear a red carnation in your lapel while your mother is alive and a white one once she passes away.   Hold your friends close and keep the others as far away as possible, and then he left.

Tranquil Hills is a quiet place with everything going on behind closed doors. In the twentieth century every rich family in the United States owned a house or condominium there and no one ever knew.  The Wracks family was probably the poorest family in Tranquil Hills.   Time passed, and the affluent speculated the real estate until house prices hit one million per suburban residence.   The Wracks can’t afford to live there now and he moved on.   The place remains covered in non-olfactory money in the quietness of strife and desolation.  The best wave on the planet when it is big is fifteen minutes away and the second-best wave in the world in the winter is two hours away by car.  The air is clean, washed by the sea mist and spume and an air conditioner is not needed because the area does not get over ninety degrees in a hot spell.  Beautiful weather, scenic panorama, and access to the best life and sport the world has to offer all in a quaint, non-descript Mediterranean package.   All of this in one place almost like it would be in heaven, or is it so.  

The godfather died of a heart attack after drinking a glass of wine with his closest friend in retirement and the world with Wracks could not be touched until he died.   Then the shit hit the fan and that is another story. 

You are a big boy now Wracks says, Father.   Your mother and I are going out tonight to an official dinner party.  We will be back before twelve o’clock.  We have acquired a babysitter for you and your brother.  By the way where is your brother Fonz?  He is in his room playing with his toys says Wracks and he doesn’t want to be disturbed.   The doorbell rings and Father opens the large hardwood door meant to stop pistol rounds from entering. 

Hello Jimi says dad how are you doing.  

Just fine says Jimi, I am between gigs and I need the money.  When will you be getting back, he asks.

Around twelve o’clock midnight no later says, Father.   This is Wracks my youngest son.   Be sure the Fonz is safe in bed because he likes to escape through the bedroom window.  Wracks can watch television in the family room until nine o’clock then he must go to bed. 

I will watch over him says Jimi.   Can I bring my ax into the house and practice?    Yes, you can says Father, just don’t play to loud the neighbors are very sensitive.  See you soon.

Father and mother exit the house through the back and drive away in a red Ford Granada his employer bought to bring Father Wracker to work.  The Wracks waves goodbye.

What do you watch on television asks Jimi?

Cartoons and kid stuff says Wracks.   I just sit in my grandfather’s green chair, watch and fall asleep.

Do you have any food says Jimi. I am famished.  You don’t get much chance to eat on the road. 

We have bologna and American cheese on white bread says Wracks.  That is what my mother makes me when I go to school.  You can have some too.   It is in the refrigerator in the meat drawer.  Jimi goes and makes himself a sandwich and sits down on the sofa in front of the refrigerator and watches television with Wracks as he eats his meal and has a glass of milk.

Jimi is African American and slightly less than six feet tall and on the slender side.   He wears a tie-died shirt and jeans and leather shoes.   His hair is straight unlike what he has in public.   He either perms it or wears a wig. 

Jimi says, do you have an old belt I could have, my guitar strap broke in the war and I need a new one because I have a gig at the whiskey tomorrow night with my band.

I will get one says Wracks, my father has a lot.   What size do you need?   The bigger the better says Jimi, it has to go around my neck.   Wracks scurries to his father’s room and selects one from the rack in the closet next to the dresser.   It is a tan belt about one inch in width and about forty inches long.

Is this good asks Wracks?

Let me see if it will fit says Jimi.    Let me get my guitar.    He then widens the holes on the belt with a key and slips it over the peg in front and uses the buckle in back to attach to the stud on the back of the guitar.  It works he says.   Thank you very much.

How come you play the guitar upside down asks Wracks

When I was starting out, I couldn’t afford a left-handed guitar so I got used to playing with a right-handed guitar.  He begins to play and the Wracks watches TV

I can hardly hear you play says Wracks.   How can you hear

Most people don’t like the sounds I make so I practice unamplified, says Jimi.   When I am at work, I plug in.  

Will you teach me how to play guitar asks the Wracks?

Its easy, says Jimi.  Just stay on the bars because flat notes sound funny when played loud.   On two strings play a riff, then move five up.   Use distortion to enhance your vibes.   Everyone has their own sound.  Develop you own style.  

I can hardly hear a thing says Wracks. 

When I am at work, I turn it up loud.    That’s enough of a lesson for you, it is time you go to bed.  By the way where is your brother?

He must be hiding, says the Wracks.

“I got to go check on him,” says Jimi.   You wait right here.   He is asleep says Jimi, now it is your turn.

Good night, Jimi, it was nice meeting you.

Thanks for the belt says Jimi.  I have to practice for tomorrow.

Father Wracks head pokes into the bedroom where the Wracks sleeps with the big window and the walls done white on white with a single bed set on a hardwood frame.  

How did you like Jimi?   He is a friend of the family.

He is a nice man and he taught me how to play guitar.

Can we go to the Whiskey and hear him play?

No, you have to be twenty-one years of age to get into the Whiskey.

Don’t get out of hand, says father Wracks.  You have a lot of growing up to do.

Will you have Jimi over again asks Wracks.    He seems very nice.

I don’t know.   He took the job on short notice.  He is a very busy man.

Tell him thank you very much for babysitting says Wracks and good night.

Now today, Wracks is at the end of things and sits in his room with nothing to do.   His child is grown up and another has died of cancer.    With a red Epiphone and a cheap second-hand amp, he replaced the speaker with,  he practices and makes noise and thinks no one will hear.  At the end of things, this is how it happens.  Play a riff on the bars and go up five.     Goodwill to those who endeavor and to all good men. 

“bonk, bonk bonk,” goes a knuckle against the glass window in Wrack’s room[R1] [R2] . “Who is outside my window at three in the morning,” asks Wracks?  “Bonk, Bonk, Bonk, meet me outside,” says BG.  “bonk, bonk, and bonk, its me BG.” Says BG. Make me some breakfast.  “Where is my dog,” asks Wracks. “I gave Punkin a milk bone and put him to sleep,” says BG.  “How did you get in my house,” asks Wracks who now is wide awake. “I reached through the dog door and opened it up,” explains BG. “I did not want to wake your parents so I put Punkin to bed and came around to your window.  Meet me in back.”   “I have to put on some pants,” says Wracks, “give me a minute.”  Wracks exits his room, walks down the hall, closes the hall door and looks at the cushion where Punkin the house dog sleeps.  Punkin dozes upside down with a smile on his face and stirs when Wracks walks by.   He opens his eyes, makes a whining noise and goes back to sleep.  Wracks let BG in the back door. Bg wears a cardigan sweater and a large woodsman hat because it is winter even here in the best climate in North America on the west coast in December.  “The con is on,” says BG.  “It should be about eight to ten feet at the point and bigger at indicator.”  “A new swell is hitting today and then it will drop tomorrow. The con is on and we should go now and be out in the water at sunup. The tide is low at two PM so the swell should peak in the morning and then drop with the tide. Let’s have breakfast.  What do you have? “   “We have eggs and toast,” says Wracks.  “I’ll have two eggs sunny side up and two pieces of toast with butter,” states BG. Wracks takes out a pan from underneath the stove, adds butter to the bottom of the pan and turns on the electric range and then drops four eggs into the melting and then sizzling butter.  Five minutes later the two sit at the kitchen table and have breakfast with two cups of Yuban fresh brewed coffee.  “It will not be as big as last time we went but it should be real good and have excellent shape. “  BG takes a draw on his coffee and finishes his eggs. “Bring some gas money and a pack of Pall mall Gold.   We will need the nicotine.”  Says BG.  He rises from his chair, takes his dish and sets it in the sink like he would at home.  “Ill gets my stuff, “says wracks. The dog spins around right side up and yawns.  “Ill see you out front, “says BG as he exits the back door in the dark in December as the mist from the ocean puts a shade and shadow on everything.   The dog goes back to sleep.  Wracks gets his jacket, his Coca Cola and bread, his paraffin bar, a pack of cigarettes, two dollars in change, and an O’Neill super suit, and goes out the back door into the garage.  A red diamond tail seven foot five inch Nat Pro gun sits in the rafters and Wracks pulls it down with a hook and brings his gear outside the gate to underneath the big pine tree on Bacon way as the street lights illuminate the opaque  air about the night. The green General motors durabuilt engine econocar hatch sits open and Cool is loading his surfboard into the car between the seats.  “I invited him along, “says BG. “The more the merrier.”  Cool turns his head in a Mexican pullover with hood and says,  “Hey brau,”  He then takes a draw on his cigarette and finishes a Heineken bear in a dark green bottle then heaves the empty into the neighbors yard.   “tonight you are going coffin,” says BG.  “Wait till I get my motorcycle helmet,” says Wracks.  Wracks dashes back into the back, into the garage and extracts a black bell motocross helmet and puts it on.   The three surfboards sit in the middle of the car separating the two driver seats and the back folds down into a large cargo area.  The gear of the three surfers sits on the right behind the “passenger side,   On the left will go Wracks coffin style. “Get in,” says BG, we have to get going.”  Wracks climbs into the cargo section, sits down facing back and lays into the car like count Dracula going to sleep.  BG closes the Hatchback over him, enters the car, ignites the ignition, puts the car into gear and the three set off into history. Down Bacon, past Mellow man’s, onto Suez lane and then sunrise avenue and Wracks looks up at the stars with his helmet on, chin strap on and starts to fall asleep and the car accelerates like mad up highway number one.  “We are going to take the freeway today,” stipulates BG.  Up Pang oh road the hatchback flies and the tires screech around the hairpin curves until the plateau and the freeway 101 appears as a green sign in the headlights at night perpendicular to the direction they were going.   Onto the onramp the car flies and BG accelerates until the car is in forth gear and floored at night with the high beams on traveling on the 101 north.  Wracks awakens from sleep to see the stars and the car fills with smoke and the windows are half way down and the wind whips around Wracks helmet, the icy coolness bringing him back to life.   Within a short time the three arrive at the junction, the junction of California street and highway one, and the ocean makes sounds and the moon sets largely on the ocean, illuminating the way to the little corner.   The little corner is the most consistent surf break in SB and gets a northwest, a hard north and a straight west swell.  BG says today the swell sweeps in straight west and Wracks dozes coffin style in the hatchback.   Kool comes to life and says, “let’s stop at the little clam for provisions.”  BG acknowledges and the car comes to a stop a half hour later at a little market, in a shack, set against s a hill with a gas station a half block away and the ocean rumbles and roars.  BG buys a hot dog and a pastrami sandwich heated in the store microwave.  Kool gets a sandwich and a bag of candy.   Wracks stays inside the car.   The two eat in silence.   Then BG says, “Lets get going and be out in the water at sunrise.”  Kool acknowledges with a hand gesture.  BG ignites the car and heads out on the highway. Within ten minutes the three are at the little corner and pull into the big parking lot made especially for wave riders surrounding  them with cyclone fencing and concrete blockades.   The night closes and the scene begins to lighten into a dark grey and morning arrives.  Eight cars situate inside the parking area.  Die hard wave riders who scoff a normal life sit in their cabs or hang out of the cargo doors of their vans waiting for first light.  Sharks cruise in the darkness and light sends them back out to deep water until the sun starts to set again.  Vans of ladies arrive to watch the wave riders surf the long thin tubular swells of the little corner.  The little corner breaks mostly on a west or northwest swell.  On these disturbances, the waves line up perpendicular to the point and break with ruler straightness in cylindrical almond-shaped tubes.  From the outer first point, three separate tube sections exist and a wave rider can situate his or herself strategically at each section to ride deep inside the wave.  The little corner holds a west swell up to fifteen feet, and then it starts to break erratically and closeout.  On a rare hard north swell that refracts off the Channel Islands onto the west-facing beach, thirty-foot waves will break for a morning and then disappear in the afternoon.  For these waves, people dedicate their lives and wait and watch for the perfect big day to arrive.  Once initiated, the little corner draws addicts from all over the coastal region of southern California.  Cool is the first out of the car. BG uncorks wracks who arises like a vampire from his tomb, shucks the helmet and saunters with the other two down the little trail unto the base of the beach to catch a glimpse of what morning brings.   Today, the three are lucky, a solid ten to twelve-foot swell sends lines three to five at a time to break down the point into the bay.  The morning starts, the light arrives and a cool offshore breeze holds up the waves unto perfect spinning vortexes larger than ten feet and growling.  Cool screams out an unexplained word and runs back to the green hatchback along with BG.  The hatch opens, three wetsuits hang on the car and wracks share the bar of paraffin with the other two, and white streaks appear on the surface of the three long surfboards. With boards in hand, the three run down the trail, through the flotsam and jetsam of wood and seaweed up to the point.  Timing the sets, they launch during a lull and are outside.   The sun comes up over the mountain interior to the little corner point and the day begins.  About twenty people ride the waves that morning and enough waves arrive to give each his or her own to enjoy.  When the sun raises to directly overhead, the offshore wind stops and the ocean becomes completely smooth and glassy like a window pane.  Three wave sets pour through endlessly.  Within an hour the wind reverses into a westward flow and the ocean surface starts to roughen up and chop.  BG turns to Wracks and says, “We’re going in.” Wracks starts to paddle to shore without waiting for a wave to ride and then arrives on the beach by going along with the white water.    Cool waits up at the car. BG opens the car, cool grabs a bag of candy, and starts eating.  Wracks strips off his wetsuit and enters his druid robe.  Cool takes off his wetsuit then noticing some young ladies down the parking lot, starts dancing stark naked and singing.  The girls laugh and blush and Wrack stows his gear in the hatchback and modestly puts on his corduroy jeans and tee shirt and then his jacket.  BG smokes a Pall mall gold and drinks coke.   The waves still pour in and the parking lot shows full.   Surfers run down to the beach with their boards and the wind is a light five knots on shore.   BG tosses his cigarette butt and says, “Let’s go.  Wracks get in the coffin.”  Wracks dons the black bell helmet and descend into the hatch.  Cool drinks a beer and tosses the can as close to a trash receptacle as he can.  The green Chevrolet launches southward at light speed. “I told you so, I told you so,” chides BG….  Ten to twelve feet slides and churning green tubes.  What more can you ask for.”

“I have to go work for my father,” says Cool “mellow.”    Wracks as customary fades into oblivion as the car enters the 101 at California street.    The three arrive back at Bacon way at three thirty pm.  “Service with a smile,” says BG.  “Wracks, get out, I have to go to work.”  Wracks grabs his gear in a brown grocery bag and plucks his red NatPro gun from the car.   “Thank you very much, BG that was a session I will always remember.  BG and cool accelerate in a close circle and rocket up Mellow man’s land to Charmed street where Cool lives.  Wracks stows his board in the rafters and washes his super suit with cold hose water.   The little dog sits on the kitchen step, growls, and wags his tail.   Wracks enters the house.  “What for dinner,” asks Wracks. “Grab a frozen bag of chicken and microwave it, “says mom.   “Where were you?” “I was surfing big wave up in SB with BG,” explains Wracks.  “go shower off and do your homework,” says Mom.   Wracks walks to his bedroom, then falls into his bed, and is asleep.  The day closes, and night arrives again and the darkness brooding in the silence becomes a reality.  Wracks wake up when it is dark, makes his meal, boils water for a cup of coffee and read by his little desk lamp.  The dog strolls in through the doggy door and falls asleep on his little cushion and wracks turns on the evening lights and locks up the house.  A light shines from under the door in Grandma’s room and Grandma is watching tony Orlando on television.  “Do you need dinner,” asks Wracks.  “No, she says and smiles and holds a speaker up to her ear.  “I already ate.”  The day ends, the night begins and another page turns over in the book of Wrack’s life.  Today he rode long thin tubular waves for a quarter-mile ride while the world turns.  No one noticed except Wracks and maybe his little dog and tomorrow he will wake up and read the Sunday paper and maybe go to church.  Then a new week begins again and Wracks will grow a little older.

---

 [R1]

 [R2]

The highly intelligent and most ethical have trouble accepting the truth.

The truth is that the working class maintains the infrastructure and drives the economy.

If there was a Passover and God took back all the rich overnight, the nation would wake up the next day and function normally.  The well-to-do are expendable.  

The wealth of a nation must be directed to maintain and nurture the working class because they are the life blood of the continuing existence of a free society.

The highly intelligent and most ethical have trouble accepting the truth.

The truth is that the working class maintains the infrastructure and drives the economy.

If there was a Passover and God took back all the rich overnight, the nation would wake up the next day and function normally.  The well-to-do are expendable.  

The wealth of a nation must be directed to maintain and nurture the working class because they are the lifeblood of the continuing existence of a free society.