Stephen Davis was reading from the first draft of his story on a surf session at a legendary and wild northwest coast spot, me on the cell phone, coming up a very long gravel road from another beach, knowing the signal would go all ghosty before it just went away. There was something about being alone in the water, waves larger than he and Stig had anticipated, larger than they looked from the cliff or the shore; and growing larger with each set. I thought I heard Steve read… “You’re always alone.”
And now I’m waiting for the complete story. Meanwhile, I kind of went overboard with the bigger lines in the foreground. I’ll have to fix that. Soon.