The Ritual Before the Rush
I left my skateboard outside the shop once. Overnight. Someone moved it behind the dumpster. I found it at 7:15 the next morning, covered in something sticky I still can't name. Sophie said it was probably soda. I think it was worse.
Now I don't leave it anywhere.
This morning was fine. Cold for Venice — maybe 52 degrees. Cold enough that my fingers went numb after two blocks. I forgot my gloves again. They're on the kitchen counter next to Sophie's lunch bag. Same spot I left them yesterday.
I rolled out at 6:48. The sun was still low, hitting the tops of the palm trees but not the street yet. My board hit a pebble around Speedway and I almost ate it. Caught myself on a parking meter. A guy walking his golden retriever pretended not to see. Cool. Thanks, man.
I stopped at the coffee shop on Rose. The one with the good pastries and the cashier who knows my order but still asks every time. "Medium black, right?" Yeah. Same as yesterday. Same as last year.
I sat outside for a minute. Took a photo of a seagull standing on a trash can. The bird didn't move. I looked like a tourist. I don't care.
Notes on a Venice Morning
The shop opens at 9. I had two hours to kill. So I just rode.
Venice at 7AM is different. No TikTokers. No lines for brunch. Just a few old guys fishing off the pier, a woman walking her bike, and the sound of waves that aren't loud enough to block out your own head.
I thought about work. A shipment came in yesterday — Nike ACG stuff I ordered three months ago. Half of it looks good. The other half has weird stitching on the cuffs. I have to email the rep today. I don't want to. He's nice. But his samples always look better than the actual run.
I also thought about my notebook. The one with the coffee stain. I forgot to log a hoodie I bought last week. $78. Uniqlo. It's fine. Not great. The fit is boxy in a way that works if you're taller than me. I'm 5'9. It makes me look shorter. Sophie said it's "cozy." That's her nice way of saying "return it."
I probably won't return it. I'll just wear it around the apartment and feel annoyed every time I pass a mirror.
By 8:15, I was back on Abbot Kinney. The coffee was gone. My ears were warm again. I passed the boutique and checked the door — still locked, good. No one moved my board.
I leaned against the wall and watched a delivery truck back into an alley. The driver kept missing the turn. Backed up, tried again, missed again. Third time he got it. I almost cheered.
Then a text from Sophie: "Did you eat something or just coffee?"
I didn't answer. I'll get a breakfast burrito later. Maybe.
The thing about mornings like this is nothing really happens. No big realization. No perfect photo. Just the same route, the same coffee, the same small thoughts about work and returns and whether I remembered to charge my camera.
Five More Minutes
I didn't. It's at 14 percent.
But I got the shot of the seagull. It's grainy. The bird looks annoyed. I'll post it anyway.
Work starts in 30 minutes. I should probably go inside and check that ACG shipment again. Or I'll sit here for five more minutes and watch the truck driver unload boxes.
Five more minutes. Then I'll be late. That's fine.
