Why I Love California

I laid there, on the stone wall, taking in the unexpected rays of sun on the chilly January afternoon. Stas sat inches away, enjoying a fine cigar, looking out over the bay, lost in thought. The biker stopped right next to us, resting after the steep incline he had just pedaled. I’m not sure who began the conversation, but shortly he asked us, “So, where are you from, Australia or England?” I lazily opened my eyes and turned my head towards him. “I’m American. And my friend is Russian.” “Oh, I thought you both spoke with an accent. You know, a funny type of English.” I smiled and closed my eyes, content to enjoy the warmth radiating from the rays.

He continued. “So, you both look like the academic type. Are you writers? Professors?”

At this point I realized he was going to be there for awhile. I sat up. I smiled. “No, I’m in Human Resources.” Stas responded, “And I work in Banking.”

He proceeded to explain to us the best nude beach spots, where secret hot springs are that you can only find at the low tide of new and full moons, and why he considers himself an “evangelical agnostic.”

As he pedaled off, I smiled at Stas before returning to my reclining position. “I love California.”

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