And is that not what this picture is supposed to represent? Not wearing anything but a bathing suit 24 hours a day in a climate that lends itself to such, doing what you want even if it is randomly playing back gammon in the late afternoon. But look closer and dig the amber light off of the old lamp, the shells on the shelf, the 70's painting (which may just be knitted and not painted), the ceder doors of the closet and haphazard way the colors and textures of the bed linens are thrown together.
Block out the lead singer's overtly hipster hair style, their strange Scottish names and listen to that sound that forces you to sing along and harmonize. Let it flow down to your feet at four in the morning while still in those trunks and bikinis you've been in all day with now only a sweater thrown over to shut out the coolness of the Pacific and the onshore winds. Huddle closer to that bonfire in the sand and let the shadows move under the stars in any way you deem necessary. Do it until your shit job fades away, until the crows feet disappear from your eyes and whatever stresses of the day coagulate your true blood and let it finally flow free.
The next day throw it on in the car with the top down and feel the sun burning your head as you drive down the five into foreign lands where there's .50 beers buried in ice and the freshest seafood imaginable with a little bit of danger and foreign tongues that you swore you'd protect her against. Lay on the towel and smell each other's skin tanning with a hint of the kelp washed up on the shoreline, kiss with a few grains on your lips and feel them in each other's hair.
Or at least that is what I am thinking about a few days before Christmas in the big old city while this is on as I take off my jacket, sweater, pants; view my pale skin in the mirror and hop under the covers with the radiator crackling off in the background steaming up the single pane windows that refuse to keep out the garbage trucks and taxi horns after spending three figures on a burger and two drinks. Staring at the three surfboards in my place that make as much sense as snowshoes on the wall in a La Jolla home; I'm warmed by their presence and will probably now open up that case of Imperials in the fridge and finish them as the play count of this song stacks up in my iTunes.......
