Like bombing down Kanan at sunset (there is nothing quite like it)

Often I remember how it was. Evening came and when the heat died down and the cottontails came out I knew it was time. From there I would spin tires down the dirt road and create dust and from there I would ride through the mountains and to the Ocean. To the Ocean! How one could always feel the Ocean before it was seen- the hearty buoyancy of salted air. And with sand in my jeans and my sneakers without socks I would go back to the place from where I came, swooping namelessly to the sound of a dream from which there was no waking.

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