Sandy egos and stink eye. Whitewater waves and belly rash. The smell of wax. Stale wetsuits in the dump bucket in the back of the car. Ding repair, generally subpar. Did he/she just see my wave? Did he/she just take my wave? He/she just ripped that wave. New boards from the glass shop- still smelling like cancer. Dusty foam wombs/rooms/tombs and bullshit chats about board design with shapers who know far more than you, yet their humor remains. Garage racks made of 2x4's. Teaching the kid how, when, and where. Bemoaning the masses. Being of the masses. Boogie scooping and glider sliding. Fishy trim and shorty whips. Noseride stasis and logo status. Welcome to the postxsurf era. Surf is deadxLong live surf.
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