Wracks is walking down his canyon with his homemade surfboard. It was supposed to be a pintail minigun, but eck and big D were high and turned the template backwards and it turned out to be a minipin. It works well nonetheless with hard down rails almost square. The canyon is his canyon, shared with one other, and all the wildlife that were there are now gone. The scrub and scenery and dried up riverbed coalesce to an exit near the all religions sect, and the Wracks walks to go surfing. He doesn’t have a car. He is too wild and reckless says his mom. The Wracks is going to surf the Bu. Malibu, shows its best shape on a west swell and when it hits a rider can ride it all the way in. Of course Malibu gets biggest on a long period southern hemisphere swell, but now, in the winter, a west is best. All his friends are at pipe with the IC, surfing Lanikea early in the season, and Sunset when there is no swell. Like Eddie taught Wracks, surf Sunset when there is absolutely no swell in the winter on the north shore, It will be six to eight feet on the inside and perfect. Never surf Sunset when it is big, if you wipe out the currents will drag you all the way to Kwai. Right now Wracks walks down Moonrise boulevard to PCH and will hitch up to the Bu. On the corner, down from Fort on the sand up to the mountains, the Wracks sticks out his thumb and hitches a ride with his backwards minigun.
The Wracks waits for at least thirty minutes with no takers and is thinking of surfing the mush at moonrise point like the pick used to do. Finally a dark grey Ford van, looking brand new slows down and a man rolls down the passenger window and says
Hop in.
The man seems of average height with black, immaculately coffered hair and wears an impeccable grey suit, almost the color of the van. The Wracks opens the side of the van, puts his surfboard on the bed and notices that the entire cab is soundproofed. He doesn’t care, it is a ride
Once in the man with dark eyes and a handsome face, closely shaven says to him,
where are you going
Up to Malibu says Wracks. Want to smoke some puff. It is brown tops from Columbia and it makes you one of the mumbilese. Hp got it for me. I have lids.
Light one up says the man
The Wracks pulls a doobie from his vest pocket and lights it with his Bic lighter. He passes the joint to them man. He takes a puff and inhales it deeply. He hands the joint back to the Wracks.
Together they smoke the joint and the Wracks throws the splib out the window. Soon they arrive at Malibu.
This is where I get off says the Wracks.
The man pulls over, the man in a suit and tie, ready to go to an executive brunch but driving a van without windows. The Wrack retrieves his board and says thanks, the man waves and says
good luck, I have some work to do.
And the door closes and the van slowly accelerates and heads north. Malibu want that good that day, about three feet with decent shape and a westerly wind at 10 miles per hour. The beach people are there, the girls are there, wearing windbreaker over their sheer bikinis and the Wracks goes out an soaks like a tea bag and puts his belongings at the wall where the crew nestles. When he is done, someone offers his a ride south and he throws his board on top of his car and rides down to moonrise point. He gets out and starts to walk up the canyon past the fort of the sand secret street with the vampire at the top. The brush is green because it rains in southern California in February and March, and he walks up the canyon toward his home on Bacon way. Once inside he cuts a chunk of cheese and has a cheese sandwich with a coke. The sunset in Tranquil Hills is beautiful and different and almost every day, and the night divides the day. Try to run, try to hide, break on through to the other side. That what he said thinks the Wracks, and the tensor lamp is on and night ensues.