She was white hot

Carlos says fuck the waves. We’re standing up today. We are already sponsored surfers with mad money and skills. We can carve waves like the curl of an ice cream scoop, our skin chocolate brown or more like toffee or more like vanilla with red sprinkles.

In the middle of the night a thunderstorm arrived. She was fierce with white strikes lashing electricity. I can’t wait to see what she kicked up from the water. If the sea purged parts of itself on the beach – an injured jelly, someone’s hand or keys, oil slicks like the rank fluid from her undercurrents, the pit of her stomach. Nature knows what to do with itself when we fuck it up. She was white hot angry and lashing down.

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