It’s 7am. The alarm buzzes. Salty morning air beckoned him to the red sky. The ocean was in his head already. The court could wait. He moved quickly. Suit stayed in the closet. Wet suit went on.
The board was strapped to the roof by seven-thirty. He drove fast, but not too fast. The sun was climbing. The air smelled of salt and heat. The water would be perfect. He could feel it already.
The beach was quiet. Waves rolled in slow and clean. He paddled out. The first wave came. He caught it and rode it until the shore. The second was better. The third was perfect.
He checked his watch once, then ignored it. The sea was alive, and so was he.
By nine he was standing in the courthouse lobby. Hair damp. Skin warm. The robe felt heavy on his shoulders. He walked into the courtroom, late.
The judge looked up. Her face was blank, but her eyes were not.
“Surf’s up?” she asked.
He nodded once, almost smiling. “It was.”
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