Each of us harbors some dream of another path. Call me crazy, but I see myself as a surfer circa 1960s. I know in my heart I would actually have hated it, the people, the wild life, the barely getting by just so one could hit the waves. None of the actual day-to-day existence appeals to me. But when the cold weather gets old, and the January darkness feels oppressively palpable, I dream of running away from this winter, this life, to that world where I can slide down mountains of bright green water. So whenever I chance upon a guy and his board on a beach, I stop and catch a picture of a different life. And in February, on the coldest day, I watch Riding Giants and dream.
South Beach Surfer, December 2013