Another day in fucking L.A. It’s a dreary beautiful gray day in drought-ridden L.A. and my morning drive was completely un-eventful. (read on…exciting hook) Yes, it poured last night, just enough to muck things up, but not enough to cause landslides or boulders as I drove through the lovely Santa Monicas via yet again, Topanga. I am still tripping on that place for multiple reasons that I could go on with, but another time.
Despite the wave of low pressure, upon reaching the coast highway the surf was down, conditions glassy. If only I hadn’t gotten married twenty-plus-years ago to someone not able or willing to support my habit, my surfing fantasies might have already played themselves out. Instead I simply dream about those glassy peaks as I zoom by chasing the ever illusive bacon.
Namaste and all that other grateful bullshit, but until I get my cup of coffee you can take it and shove it, you future worm-food, as that is all there is and will be.
Okay, I was just kidding: I love you and I love everyone, even the former cockroaches. Just tune me out as you normally would.