Page 168 - In Five Years
P. 168
make a mistake.
I take my coffee back to the hotel. I walk across the concrete bike path, into
the sand, and down to the ocean. Far to the left, I can see some surfers,
zigzagging through the waves, around one another, like their movements are
choreographed. A big, oceanic ballet. Moving continuously toward the shore.
I snap a picture.
I love you, I write. What else is there to say?
