Another Day at the Beach

 

                “Bro, it’s like this,” said David. He adjusted his backwards neon pink baseball cap on his head, brushing his dishwater blonde hair back. “it’s like, you gotta feel it, like, in your soul, like and like, get into it like so gnarly that it’s like in you forever, like, you know?”

                 I nodded and placed my small tape recorder on the bench between us. David didn’t really notice and he kept on speaking. In some sort of English, I’m still not sure.

                 “Like you’re like a reporter, right? Like, so that’s like super awesome like you get to like do that for like, a living or whatever, but like taking care of Mother Earth is like, everyone’s like, religious, like something, like, like ah, like, their like… um…,” said David.

                 “Their sacred duty you mean,” I said.

                 “Yeah bro, like yeah, that’s the words like, I couldn’t, like, find, or whatever,” said David. He pat me on the back, the gesture mis-timed with his words.

                 “So, David, getting back on point, how did you get into being this Eco-Warrior? You’ve been camped out here by the beach for a month now trying to draw attention to the Global Climate Crisis and all while completely naked. How did this come about,” I asked.

                 “Dude, like I was on my Insta and I was just like talking to my followers about like how bad like, it is for like, the Earth right now, and like how we all have to like do our like part and my followers were like, ‘Yo, Dav, what are YOU doing about it?’ and I was like, yeah bro, what am I doing about it? So then I was like, from there, it was like, this epic journey to like just come out here and like, live on the beach to like, raise awareness. Plus, I’m like totally ripped and cut and I’m like, people like, like that about me so I like was like, to my followers like, ‘Yo, bro and hoes, should I like do this naked?’ and they were so stoked for it. So that’ s like how I did it,” said David. He flexed a little so I could clearly see how ripped and cut he indeed is.

                 “And how much awareness do you think you have brought to the climate change issues,” I asked.

                 “Like, that’s like, a tough question bro, because Like, on the beach I haven’t like, had much like ableness to like, check the actual stats on the Earth and what, but like I know my message of like, conservativism, is like, totally reaching my Insta followers, cause like I got like so many more like, likes,” said David.

                 “Cool. Cool. So I think I have enough for my story,” I said, “Really appreciate your time and I do hope you can continue this noble conservation work.” I turned off my recorder and put it back in my pocket. I stood up from the bench and went to shake Naked David’s hand. He pulled me against his nakedness and hugged me too hard.

                 “Thanks Bro, like totally thanks to you bro,” said David as he clutched me tight.    

                 I was released from his naked grasp and I pat him on the shoulder, wished him good luck and started walking away. I looked back over my shoulder to wave and watched as Naked David brushed sand out of his pubic hair. He already had his phone out and was clearly about to broadcast something to his followers. I realized that our interview would be on Instagram before I could get home to write it and submit it and get it published. I sighed and kept walking toward the bar at the end of the beach where I could get a stiff drink and re-evaluate my life. Maybe take up smoking again. Call that old girlfriend and see if she forgave me yet. Try to sleep with her maybe. Or maybe I should just take all my clothes off and join Naked David in his quest.

                 The bar was sparsely crowded. It was mid-afternoon and only the old, hard core, beach drinking, alcoholics were present. They were all leathery and dry from all the sun and booze. Their white wisps of hair tussled in the ocean beach breeze. I was the only person in the place wearing shoes.

                 I ordered a whiskey and water on the rocks and sat on the worn wooden, stiff, barstool. The bartender nodded. I looked out back towards the sand and the beach. I couldn’t hear the ocean. I could only hear the traffic going by and the faint grinding sounds of construction somewhere.

                 “Can I smoke at the bar,” I asked the bartender as he brought me my drink.

                “Sure, we’re outside, so, go for it,” said the bartender, clearly in the I-don’t-give-a-shit phase of his career.

                “Thanks,” I said.

 

But I didn’t have any cigarettes. Just another day at the beach.

Photo Credit: https://fineartamerica.com/profiles/az-jackson