It's tourist season in Laguna Beach. Time to abandon the main beaches. Hordes of dowdy out-of-towners pick over the tide pools like hungry shorebirds hunting sandcrabs. Whole families of exotic foreigners congregate on the boardwalk in formal clothes watching the tanned beach-volleyball players. The rocky coves, inaccessible to our bloated visitors, are far less crowded at this time of year.
I met my chum Grant on a Saturday morning to go spearfishing. The sky was overcast as it usually is at this time of day. The sport is illegal in Laguna Beach at the moment, but we sneak in anyway, using a friend's beachfront home in a gated community as our launch site. (Fuck the hippies). So far, so good.
"No sign of him today", said Grant, referring to the white shark he and some buddies had seen in these waters two months ago. "As big as a horse", was how they described it.
On the beach we peeled off the top half of our suit. It was getting a little warmer now. Grant put his fish in a plastic Albertson's bag. Just off shore we could see a pod of SCUBA divers moving across the cove like ridiculous turtles.
He smiled. "Okay, dude, let's go do some fish tacos and watch surf vids on my 40 inch."
"Sounds good to me".
We passed some tide pools and started climbing the hillside. I once found a small octopus stranded in one of these pools, squeezed in between some rocks.
"Why did you do it?", I asked him later.
He thought for a minute. "I just wanted to see if I could", he replied.
Within a few days of the break-up, he told me, he was fucking two local girls that he kept on the side for emergencies. In fact, throughout their relationship, he had a stash of other girls (including a hot escort whom we both know well) that he regularly tapped into as the needs arose. And arose they did, with a vengeance.