Submitted by ebeMajor on Sat, 02/03/2018

Surfboard

Surfboard. This words is waiting for me on the blank page. As to be big, it's big. Cumbersome, I'd say, how can they bring it around without not shattering it, I wonder? What else? Weight? I've got no idea but it must be light enough to be easily carried and sturdy enough not to collapse under a squatting man. Smooth? Yes,. Compact? Probably. Coloured. Plastic like when new, salty when used. A dance. The seventh wave. The ocean. Tanned sun bleached boys. The Beach Boys. California Girls?
Then I stopped. No other connection. My brain tried to give a blank glimpse at the almost intact page . No other connection. Between me and
a surfboard there's the same distance there is between whipped cream and a railroad, were it not for the fact that you can get some whipped
cream on a train. Not the same thing as a railroad, of course, but still a connection, there. Conversely, I've got no connection with a surfboard. What if I'd use separation instead of connection? What if I'd use the famous six degrees of separation? Let me see... No, no, it doesn't work. Between me and a surfboard only the void.

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