I walked the road by the sea. I walked past posters of oversized humans glued to windows and glowing surf ads that sold me happiness. I was lost in half-naked girls, surfers, kooks and tourists that belied my path to truth. Why was I so lost? I could have any surf product I wanted. Any type of board, hat, shirt, watch, towel, sandal, bottle opener, sticker—but none of this made me feel good. Nothing seemed real. There was no struggle. No reflection of the paddle through 10-foot beach break for that one big drop. No two-wave hold downs that reminded me I wanted to live—to surf.

Just press a button. I am a surfer like you. This was not real. So I got up. Leaving behind the bright lights and mouths to kiss but never found love. And as I walked further down the road by the sea, the night became quiet, and I soon fell to slumber. When I awoke, it seemed as though I were in a dream. It was a frog and a house? It was cozy inside—filled with the smell of sand and wax. There were things from the sea stuck to the wall and surf stuff crowded the room as though a group of good friends. The guy behind the counter talked of surfing Pipeline yesterday. This was it. This was real. Real surfers who didn't have everything I wanted, but the one thing I needed: truth.

Location Details

6908 W. Coast Highway
Newport Beach CA 92663


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