![]() My freedom will deteriorate, so will my cutback, and I’ll still smile. One day, I’ll be in my 30s and I’ll have a baby who screams and cries and produces awful odors. Paying bills, feeding things, working, physically softening, doing all the things that would have terrified the me that excelled at social media. and surfed for four hours straight because what the f–k is a hangover? I was also largely unappreciative of everything, but pretty good at social media. I got blackout drunk, then woke up at 6 a.m. I also used my few whiskers of armpit hair to establish myself at the apex of the pre-teen social hierarchy. ![]() I called chest-high waves “7-feet” and wore my wetsuit until the Antarcticas of my skin became red and swollen. I also tried eating a bumblebee and broke a bone in my leg while attempting to jump over some sort of a tent. I began surfing, began obsessing with it. ![]() I pay bills, I live far away from my family and childhood friends, I work in an office and my stomach threatens to bulge with each passing beer. I have a girlfriend and sometimes I have to feed her too. I’m 25 now, and my 25-year-old life would have seemed like some colorful version of hell when I was younger. So many flavors, and none of them seem appealing to me. In my hometown, there was even a guy who would sit out there and “Yow-zah” nonstop. The grumpy one who sucks at surfing and makes you wonder how long he’s actually been doing it. Then there’s the acid old guy, who hoots everyone in and waits for waves while clutching his rails like he’s the sole proprietor of the last shard of reality left in the whole entire world. There’s also the ripper old guy who rides a 6’2” Roberts and still surfs every wave like he’s trying to beat somebody or anybody at anything or something. There are different flavors of old - Saturday’s example was just one of many. Sometimes, I wonder if being dead is better than being old.īut I don’t want to die, so I guess I’ll be old. Then they park like shit and cane around the streets in a daze, confused and angry at everything. I see old people all the time and it looks miserable. But I’ve also realized that age is bitchfully incessant and that I’ll get older. So I’ve realized that I’ll never stop surfing. Surfing is a distraction that I need in my life, and one that both my physical and mental well-being would wither without. It’s because I wouldn’t be the same without it. And not because bro brah bruh and I want to get a shark tattooed on my calf and wear Quiksilver boardshorts with flip-flops to my own funeral. I’ve come to the realization that I’ll never stop surfing. It was as if his rail was set on train tracks… ![]() In the rare instance that his paddling efforts were met with success, there was a certain apathy about the way the future rode waves. The future sat so far out so that he could catch the next set or at least paddle for and miss the next set and splash water. The skin of his face looked like broiled ham marinated with gooey white sunscreen, and beneath that there was a coffee-breath scowl. Beneath it was a gut that jutted out as if a Budweiser Clydesdale had a camel’s hump. He wore a wetsuit that was half black and half torn. The future was there, sitting 20 feet farther out than right now. ![]()
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