Mateo The Idiot, Part 1
My friend called me and told me there was surf. I checked the online surf report and it said the surf was flat.
"Don't worry... Mateo was just down there and he tells me there's some nice small clean waves."
So I left the market and headed to the beach, foregoing lunch in the process. I rubbed my neck down with Tiger Balm and turned the heat way up in the car to keep my muscles supple and loose.
I met my friend in a parking lot. He entered the car and started to cough... "Fuck man!" he said, waving his hand in front of his nose while wincing, "it smells like a fucking locker room in here!" He opened his window.
We drove the 30 minutes to the break in near silence as he scrolled around on his "crackberry" and I sung every lyric to the "meaty" Pavement album "Terror Twilight."
It was obvious when we pulled into the beach's empty parking lot that there was no surf. "This looks bad," I said.
"Yeah, but this guy Mateo..." my friend began as his voice trailed off. The mightly Atlantic looked like a mighty mirror.
"Lunch on me then!" he offered.
We downed our burritos. Between bites, we took turns cursing Mateo.
Then this crazy dude from the gas station with curly hair and eggy eyes sat next to us. He had food in front of him but instead of eating it, he just sat there looking at the girl behind the counter. This brought the vibe up to an uncomfortable level and we decided to drink our coffee on the bench outside the shop. That's when we saw Mateo crossing the street in our direction.
"DUUUUDE!" Mateo called once he saw us, playing the air guitar like Wayne from Wayne's world, circa 1989.
(more soon, I'm out of battery... going to bed)
