“Yeah, but did you get that other picture I e-mailed you?” “Hey, I’m hanging on a 28 foot ladder, Steve; I haven’t seen any e-mails. What’s it of?” “Well… chuckle, chuckle (not the words, just the ‘hu, hu, huh’)… you’ll just have to see it.”

Yeah, Steve, was evidently not being chased by Big Island volcanic magma, and was, in fact, just out of the water after surfing (okay, I didn’t forget where, but my brain kind of went out, like the spotty cell phone connection, when he said the name); and, evidently,  had done some carpentry work, but was not painting Cap’s catamaran, which, apparently, the new buyer will purchase pretty much ‘as is’.

“Did I tell you someone found my stolen kiteboard, out on the Coyle?” “No. What?” “Yeah, someone, maybe; was breaking into this other guy’s house, and, maybe it dropped out of a pickup or something. Are you working out that way?” “No.” “Okay” “Hey, Steve; what about the…” “Hey, I’ll let you go (people always act like it’s not them who wants off the phone, but a favor to you, or, in this, and other cases, me), you’re kind of breaking up.” “No, I’m not; I can hear you…” Click. Fine.

So, here’s Stephen doing an El Pollo (again, pronounced el poy-yo’), not in the tube.

Here’s a wave, breaking, somewhere, but, evidently, not on the Strait of Juan de Fuca (pronounced, since I’m being a bit pedantic, ‘whan- day-Fuke-ahhhhh’). Adios (okay, ah-de’-ose).