Saturday. Cloudy and rainy. Awoke after midday and bored.
Drove. Whippers left right left. Listening to Boards of Canada‘s Trans Canada Highway album. Left Side Drive track. Quite chilly with the A/C on first of five settings especially with an gloomy afternoon. Gloom is good. Red brake lights refract through the water beads on the windshield. Space constellations.
Stopped at Starbucks after a thirty minute aimless drive. Two foot flooding in the parking lot. Grande White Mocha with Whipped Cream. Hot please. Oh, you like my Starfucker t-shirt. No, I haven’t gone to their concert. Here, scan the barcode on my phone. Beep. Receipt? Nope. Thanks.
Desire to be alone but in public. Park at meter and wait and stare towards the beach. No one is nearby save for a few wet weather joggers and walkers. With current conditions being the opposite of typical, now is the time to experience something mildly uncommon. More people should be here.
The hot White Mocha wasn’t as sweet as expected. Sweet not throughout. Just at the bottom. The kind of sweetness that needs swirling. New hires or trainees possibly. Hope they improve.
One would expect these sounds. Water constantly slapping itself. Static copy cat. Under a small hut shelter it is easy to spend long stretches in silence absorbed by the sound and closeness to the end of land. Like a cliff or the edge of the world, if it were flat. These days are reflective.
The sand and saltwater have a special smell. Distinctive. Why isn’t this a design house or celebrity parfum already? The pier not far. Another fragrance entirely of fish guts.
Cold and rainy and tranquil. This is the way the beach was meant to be enjoyed.