I’ve been thinking of a story in which, on a marginal day at a somewhat remote, not-secret surf spot, a surfer who made the mistake of catching a wave another, already quite frustrated surfer wanted gets out of the water to find the air let out of all four tires, and a message written in wax on his windshield.
The surfer riding with the frustrated vandal rides back (and not that local) to the perpetrators house, returns on his own with a compressor and a small generator only to find the waves are pumping and the owner of the damaged vehicle is out in the water.
I’ll work on it further, including a drawing, when I get a chance. It’s not a morality tale (no, of course it is), but it’s probably a result of my thinking about how the aloha spirit has been replaced by a begrudging acknowledgement that the surf is going to be increasingly crowded, and being a local local means you are probably going to be equally welcomed at another, and possibly better spot.
And, meanwhile, I’m trying to figure some time I can go and get quality waves without having to be cordial. Aloha. No, I mean it. Really.