The Reef

by: W. Dire Wolff

Nobody can tell you nothing. It isn’t like tomorrow was ever here. There was always something that she forgot to tell me. It worked out that way. In the end, she only left me wondering. I was wondering what she was wearing. The phone dropped down on the receiver and...nothing.

Later I walked down by the corner and watch the waves in the street lights. Yeah, like I stood there alone and waiting for nothing. Cold damp rain in the headlights of the tiny village. It wasn’t like she left me with promises. It wasn’t like she had given me anything at all. It was just the silent street talk.

It didn’t matter much then. I don’t care about that now. Really, like no big deal. My head was empty of those complaints and worry. My head was just like empty. Things might bother me, but not this time around. I was only wondering how to get back there. The rest of the world was just a reason to go back there.

In the Nihon the street are filled with cherries. The women are 10 years older than there faces tell. Sushi, sake, and gohan on little wooden tables in Yaki Tori rooms. Eating with the hashi. There in the center of it all is my great Buddha. He touches my head and I forget the words of duty. I wait at his feet and for once I am humble. He waits for me in his stone patience.

Then that’s like the story.

Much later....

Then there was August in Sapporo...

Like you get away from the streets of Tokyo and all the visitors from the West when you trek on up to Hokkaido. Just some kangaroo lovers and Vodka breath round eyed tourists up that way. It’s a little tough to find a good dose of English. Then you start realize that you are farther from the familiar. In Sapporo the bars don’t close until Sunrise. No worry about having to spend the night alone. A dude can just stay there washing down the night air with whiskey. It’s a bit like the Roppongi, without the English.

Japan in summer time is perfect if you like hot, sticky, humidity. Particular is the nice hot August days in the streets of Tokyo. Ain’t nothing like it. Some folks have a lot to complain about in that weather. Others it reminds of tropical places. In Sapporo the weather is a little more forgiving in August. The nights are warm and perfect for hanging out on a bench in Bon Odori Koen. Can’t complain much about nights like those. Can’t complain much at all.

Except as for me, I have to come back. Trade the ladies of the east for the surfer girls of the west. Same old bikini clad blonde vixens day in and day out. Just waiting for the next plane ride back to the real world. Then out of a barrel, you realize that the surf rolls through Santa Cruz like holy roller. You start clicking on the mainline and get it going on. It’s like, well, “How did I get here?” This is like, cool. Total Stoker.

But this little surf world sometimes is only for the week-end...It’s the Monday battle on the hill. Rollin’ over to the Valley, to Surf the Net. Punch, Punch, Punch...Tap, Tap, Tap WWW.BOREDOM.WORK. Waiting for Friday’s check and another week-end of tubes.

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Copyright © 1996 to 2015 by W. Dire Wolff


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