It's been years since I've visited a little nook I frequented during my high school heyday. I knew I had arrived when I walked up to a mysterious and dark corridor that had always reminded me of The Chronicles of Narnia. As I carefully descended the broken concrete stairs and the now, more modern graffiti, memories of our "baddest on the block" high school posse, each toting a 6 pack of strawberry (and other fruity assortment) wine coolers, shot through my head like an old friend welcoming you back. It was one of those memories which made you laugh at how serious you thought you were back in the day yet, how little you really knew about life. It was as if I had never left. The rusty railing of the ladder hadn't deteriorated much over the course of say, a century and instantly the familiar thought returned, "I hope I don't fall off this ladder and make a total fool out of myself." Alas, I had made it to landing, a mixture of sand, rock, broken yet smooth glass, and shells. I peered out among a different set of faces, faces that didn't look like the same surfing regulars from back in the day. One thing was for sure, while they were different people, they wore the same happy grin only a surfer wears...
