I’m sorting through laundry when I hear my phone beep.

Surfboard riding? it reads. Dominic texts me every morning he plans to go out.

Twenty minutes later, I park my car behind his on the street. Dom’s sitting on the rocks, watching the surf. He hears my car door slam shut and glances back towards me, waves.  I cross the street, head down through the sand and climb up onto the rocks next to him.

“It’s not lookin’ so good,” he says.

The waves are small, clean, and almost dumping on the sand.

“Mmmm,” I concur. “That sucks.”

I look up and down the beach. It’s empty. A wide V of pelicans fly over our heads. The sun warms my legs. I put my hands behind me, lean back, and settle onto the rock.

Dominic and I talk shop.

“So, some lady sent an email last night complaining that she couldn’t get her bartender’s attention,” he says.

“Whaat? Are you serious?”

He laughs. “Yeah. She said we were too busy celebrating Obama’s victory.”

I start laughing, too. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I know, right? Some bitter housewife, all pissed off that Romney didn’t win, had to take it out on a bartender. I know exactly who it was, too, it was those women sitting at the blue chairs.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember them.”

“I even went over there and checked on them several times!”

“Ugh. Well, sorry ladies, your candidate lost. Suck it up.”

“Seriously. Everyone at the bar was celebrating! After you left, Eric bought a bottle of Duval-Leroy and poured a bunch of glasses, they were all cheersing. I mean, it was a memorable event in our nation’s history!”

Just then, Paul climbs up on the rocks next to us. “Hey kids,” he says.

The three of us chat. Dom tells Paul the story. I go to the car to grab my camera.

“Dom, you know how I’m trying to take pictures every day? Paul, you’re not scared of cameras, are you?”

“Not unless I’m in the nude,” he says.

“Cool. Well keep your clothes on.”

I set up the camera on a pile of boulders, opposite of us. I walk back towards Dom and Paul, releasing the shutter with my remote to test its range. Of course, right as I climb to my spot, the remote stops tripping the camera.

“Here, you take it,” I say, giving the remote to Paul.

So much for capturing a normal surf check.

It doesn’t happen often, but it happens today: we don’t surf. Instead, we go to Beach Break Cafe for breakfast.

We’ll check again tomorrow morning. ☼