The real problem is that most of the occupants of these colorful wetsuits are assholes. They average about thirteen years old, and ruder little tykes couldn’t be imagined. Densepacking at the takeoff point is intense, and the young surfnazis have dealt with the problem by forming gangs and taking off in groups. If two gangs take off on one wave, it’s war. People are pushed off, fights are started. They think this is funny, surfing at its finest.

Tash just continues to do his thing, ignoring the crowd. Aside from a lot of violent threats he is rarely bothered. The truth is, the surfnazis think he is a kind of killer kung-fu character, Bruce Lee crossed with Jerry Lopez, and they leave him alone. But this time one of the more hostile kids deliberately drops in ahead of Tash, shouting “Get the fuck off, Grandpa!” and trying to drive him back into the break. Tash makes his normal bottom turn, comes up and is surprised when he knocks the kid off the wave.

As Tash paddles back out his harasser steams over toward him shrieking abuse and calling on his buddies to help beat up this intruder. Tash just sits up on his board and stares the kid down. Calling him names won’t do any good; these poor masochistic sleepwalkers like to be called nazis, in fact it’s a compliment among them: “Hey, fucker,” one will say to another after a good ride. “That’s real nazi.”

So Tash just looks at the kid. The rest of the gang hangs back. Tash allows himself a little theatrics, says to the enraged surfer in a tiny horror-video whisper, “Don’t cut me off again, my child.…”

That not only infuriates the young nazi, it gives him the creeps. Tash paddles back out to the point, chuckling.

But here he is chuckling over terror tactics, when just an hour ago he was involuntarily grinning at the sweet dark face of nature itself, as it rushed up to embrace him. Now it’s mallsprawl on the water, surfing another video game. Tash rides a few more waves, and no one actively bothers him, but the mood is gone.

So he paddles out of the new machine, walks up the beach. Sits down to dry off, warm up.

Watches sand grains roll down the side of a hole his toe is making.

The sun gets higher, people begin to populate the beach. By the time he picks his way across the expanse of sand it is dotted with hundreds of figures on towels.

Let’s spend a day at the beach!

Talk. Smell of oil, try this coconut!

Here I’ll put it on you. Coconut is popular this month.

Thirty tunes clash in the baked shimmery air.

Lifeguard stands are open. Green flags on top.

Lifeguards in red trunks, burnt noses, aren’t they cute?

Pastel colors of the old beachfront condos. Neon rainbow overlay.