San Diego

We leisurely walked to the beach, enjoying the warmth of the sun on our bare arms as we caught up on the daily happenings of months gone by. My life in the city, hers in suburbia, my dating escapades, her second pregnancy. He strolled ahead with the baby, letting us absorb all the trivialities that forge a friendship. We watched surfers ride waves. “You should come down after I have the baby and we’ll surf…” she began. Just then a voice to the left of us caught my attention.

“Yeah, pura vida, man. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Pu-ra vee-da! Was down in Costa Rica for the winter. Pura vida. Like it’s Costa Rican for Aloha…” the voice trailed off as the silver haired lanky individual pulled down his wet suit and toweled off.

Her husband couldn’t restrain himself. As we were out of earshot he mimicked, “Pura vida, man…”

We continued, nearing the boardwalk. She pointed out the specialties of each of the coffee shops we passed. To our right a young lad strummed on his guitar. He gazed into the blue sky, crooning lyrics about a first love. Out of the blue, he slammed his guitar with his fist, “Look for my love at the…. PAWN SHOP!” Strum, strum, strum. As we walked away another melodic verse began, then, as we were almost too far away to hear, came, “PAWN SHOP!”

We sat sipping our mocha whipped icy cold creamy frothy delights, watching the beachgoers frolic on the sand. “This is awesome. I can’t believe how relaxed I am. Thanks for having me this weekend.”

“Anytime. It’s just a typical day in San Diego.”

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