its 12am and we are twenty miles away from the closest civilization that is sweet palo alto, its brick-paved lamplit streets. never mind the streetlights in the town because we have the world's streetlight, maniac moon crowned by a halo, on ten guys braving the ocean winds with nothing more than a hoodie and pants if they're in the luckier half. we scramble out of the car, grins taking on an ivory sheen.

the waves crashing engulfed all other sound, and in the rush to the shore i straggled and took in the pale scene, the crests of sea highlighted by foam the color of slate. ava described this as the oceanic feeling: the sensation of eternity, one with the external world. i imagine what it would be like submerged in that water, rocked around, perpetual, as i see the waves rolling, washing over the beach, and falling away.

i hurry over as we make two teams. passing that football back and forth on the beach, making plays, the only boundaries in our world were the waves on our right and the rocks on our left. an abnormally high wave seeps into my shoes, and i jump away without much success. it's cold in my shoes, my calves, soaked through and sandy. i hear the wind, the waves, and lil tecca on the speaker. i look into the distance at a car, driving along that coastline route. the lightcone of the brights fades out, leaving a pleasant darkness behind. i hear my friends calling my name, drawing up the next play in the air. i join the huddle and no longer notice the wind clawing at my chest and the two blocks of ice that are my shoes. i had forgot, and i fear i will forget again, that this was the point of it all.