Would it be weird if I take my shoes off and stay here long enough for them to dry?
My mind cycles through ten other ridiculous questions as I sit here alone.
Which is fine.
I can do this.
I can make it through the winter.
I can make it through the winterbut…I need to get my ass in the ocean.
Since I first started, there has only ever been two times when I went this long without surfing. When I had my appendix out at fourteen, and when I stepped on coral and my foot got infected on Oahu.
I break off a piece of the muffin’s top, and, with my phone in hand, I lounge back and Google;car rental near me.
There’s only one option within forty five minutes. It’s not one of the big names, it’s a small independent lot near the train station. The website reads like a grandpa made it with Comic Sans font and photos that look like they were taken with filmand scanned. Every car is at least fifteen years old, and the prices are hilariously high considering all of the above. Not to mention, because I’m under twenty-five, it’s a fifty percent daily surcharge.
I check Craigslist but the results are just as grim.
I broaden my search but pretty soon I’m back in California, so I put my phone down; annoyed, but not defeated. Iwillget in that damn water. An opportunitywilllet itself be known.
After I finish my coffee I return the cup and plate, wrap the scarf back around my neck, brace for the cold, and step outside.
The sun might have come out but the windchill is still fucked.
Bypassing Main Street altogether, I continue one block further down the cross street and take a left on Cedar Lane. Broadrock’s second strip of businesses are much less retail, and I pass by a law firm, a dry cleaner, and a dance studio on my way to the post office.
The post office is a brown brick building beside a doctor’s office, and inside it’s just as dreary as its facade. A man with a mustache and a receding hairline stands behind a counter beneath fluorescent lights and ceiling tiles. I greet him before he does me, and slide my package slip towards him. He takes the paper, disappears out the back, and has me sign for the package without so much as a smile.
I linger a while, just staring at the box and the black Rip Curl logo boldly printed on the side. It’s a generic postage box, but inside is a Flash Bomb steamer wetsuit, cap, and boots. They were expensive as fuck—the most I’ve ever paid for a wetsuit in my life, by a lot—but it’s worth it. This is my sanity we’re talking about.
I grip the box under my arm, and leave the clerk in peace.
Outside again, I pause one shop down in front of ‘Harry’s Hut: Antiques & Treasures’.
On impulse, I push the door open.
Inside it feels a lot less treasure, a lot more junk, but I’m not a fancy guy. I lived in a dorm with three other men for the past two years.
The shelves are crammed with mugs, and plates, and what feels like thousands of ceramic figures. There’s a box full of random cutlery, a taxidermied racoon with a mini top hat and monicol, and several racks of clothes. At the back is some furniture, and I spot an armchair not too dissimilar to the one I was just sitting on in the cafe. The tag says fifty dollars so I take a seat. It’s comfortable, it doesn’t squeak, and other than a little fluff and dust, it feels like a steal.
Beside it is a large wooden crate filled with picture frames. I set my package on the floor and start looking through it. Some are rusty, some are chipped, but the glass is still good in all of them.
“You can have it for forty.”
I look up to see a middle-aged woman unpacking books from a cardboard box.
“Excuse me?” I say.
“The chair. You can have it for forty.”
I run my hand over its dark, woven upholstery.
I hadn’t considered actually buying it, but I start imagining it in the corner of the spare room instead of the camping chair, and suddenly I need it in my life. “Do you have any coffee tables?”
“No. Furniture’s been a struggle to find lately. Too many people want more than it’s worth… I’ve got a set of bedside tables, though.” She gestures towards the other side of the bookshelf she’s stacking.
I push up from the armchair to go take a look.
