(no subject)
The thing about a good board is that it's a bit like a good woman. It needs to be taken care of. A good board needs wax. Brad crouches on the sand seeing to his board. It's not great, not the kind that he'd buy back in San Diego but it'll do. He's been using this board more and more for teaching, and he doesn't want to be responsible for anybody slipping and cracking their heads.
Not being responsible for people's lives. He's getting used to that. This isn't the desert anymore.
Brad's always been pretty happy on his own. He's always enjoyed his own company because, let's face it, other people are fucking annoying. Certain people excepted.
Still.
He bends his head, concentrating in his task. It's almost like meditation. He can do it and not think.
It's sort of fucking glorious.
Not being responsible for people's lives. He's getting used to that. This isn't the desert anymore.
Brad's always been pretty happy on his own. He's always enjoyed his own company because, let's face it, other people are fucking annoying. Certain people excepted.
Still.
He bends his head, concentrating in his task. It's almost like meditation. He can do it and not think.
It's sort of fucking glorious.