Part IV: Le Monde du Surf

The sun came up over an American flag here in French California. The temps pinned 90 at 9am. The stink of tar tar and red wine filled my nose as my French roomy prepared a feast. I hopped in the buggy expecting another disappointing surf on the lost French coast but was completely wrong. My spirits squirreled with offshores and tubes. Sheet glass and pirates. France did me right. The French kiss was invented here god dammit and I wanted tongue daggers. I got the whole French enchilada. Two sessions for a 6 hour love fest. The world makes sense. Rib cage bruises. France is sexier than California but surprisingly similar. I hope she brings goon bags and apple tarts tomorrow. I do not negotiate with terrorists.