“It’s not the age of wine that matters,” Jack my wine tasting teacher was saying. “It’s how it ages. I bought all these Cabs back in ’84, a fine year for Napa. Some of these vintages will be accessible, and some will be . . . geriatric.”
Traditionally, each summer, magazines publish issues devoted largely to fiction. Our contribution to this tradition is the annual Easy Reader/Beach Anniversary Writing and Photography contest.
As they approached the sumptuous brunch, a flock of inordinately large pelicans floated by. In seconds the entire deck was completely plastered with bird droppings. The backyard instantly went from pristine to buried under two inches of white feces.
Runoff from the morning rains still poured from storm drains along the beach. It carved its way through the sand, reached the surf, and was swept out to sea. Dipping below the horizon, the sun cast the clouds a deep red. Electric lights throughout Pier Plaza buzzed to life and taxis along Hermosa Avenue began disgorging their passengers.
This is the story of the profound influences that this 2-year community college had on my life. The memories flood the inner folds of my brain as I think back on those turbulent times on college campuses in the 1960s. It was crazy enough everywhere, but exceptionally so in the art departments. That is where I spent most of my time, as I pursued a dream career in the graphic design field.
My eyes narrow. This guy? I know I’m going to have anger issues with this idiot. He’s already a threat to exposing my secret.
He changed the topic to the Bukowski Library. “What do you think, guys? How ‘bout right over there?” while pointing at Berth 73. “Sure. Why not?” they said with little conviction. Vic left feeling most longies followed sports far more closely than literature, even the stories of a hometown wild man like Bukowski.
My little sister Norma “remembered” the incident through my telling of it, 40 years later. And sometimes I wondered if it was real, if I had dreamt it or if I made it up, to test her, her loyalty, like the faithful Tonto to the Lone Ranger, my younger sister to me (I, the middle daughter), and at that time, thankfully, the bigger.
Despite the prohibition, the soldiers allowed my mother to pass through a fence on the pier and snag herring,