![]() He whips his board off the lip of the wave into a perfect 360 alley-oop before touching smoothly back down on the flat of the water. Kageyama shifts his weight, riding out the other side of it, pulling his board into the air- flying. The sunny opening of the aquablue tunnel teases right in front of his board as he thrusts his arm out, burying it in the face of the wave to stall his speed, extending his ride inside the pipe. At any second it could collapse, but instead of feeling suffocated, he just feels fearless, playing with one of nature’s most powerful forces like it’s a lion cub. He carves through the wave, turning and cutting back up its face before maneuvering into the barrel, riding the tube, surrounded by water on all sides. His pulse rises like the water it’s a big wave and he takes the drop right down the face of it, building speed, seasalt spray and wind whipping his hair back. Kageyama feels the first wave start to build and checks to make sure he’s not dropping in on another surfer, before flipping his board around, popping up with practiced ease, to ride the wave. The water is warm, the waves are a perfect height. But nobody rides the waves the way Kageyama can. There’s lots of people already out swimming, or on their own boards-this place, with its perfect point breaks, must have a dozen popular surf spots. He paddles his shortboard out away from the shore. Kageyama has been traveling along the coast since he left his last town so surfing opportunities haven’t been scarce, but it still seems like too long since he last dove in. His backpack with his few possessions now stowed, his single minded determination pulls him towards the water. When he emerges, it’s with his wetsuit on too warm for the current climate, but it’s all he’s got to wear in the surf. He’s barely even thought about it before he’s ducking into a little public restroom. He can hear the surf calling to him, hear the crashing tempo of the waves, a rhythm he knows as well as his own heartbeat. So he turns toward the pier, knowing the easiest to find motels will all be on the strand-with any luck, some of them might even be affordable.īut walking along the sand with the water right alongside him is leaving too much up to temptation. He doesn’t technically have a place to stay yet. The truck honks once in farewell as it trundles off, and Kageyama sighs. ![]() This new city will have to be his home for now. It means the unfamiliar waves lapping the sandy beach are all he has for company. This is everything he’s carrying, all that he’s brought with him. Kageyama hops out of the truck, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and pulls open the door to the back seat so he can grab his surfboard. The busy pier is visible in the distance, the strand made lively and colorful by all the beach towels and umbrellas and bathing suits. Now he’s reached his destination, a bustling city by the sea as populated by tourists as the locals that live there. He’d been walking slowly along the sidewalk overgrown with weeds and tall grass, thumb hitched high into the air. “Thanks for the lift,” Kageyama tells the driver of the hobbly truck he’d been fortunate enough to be noticed by, miles back on the highway.
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