E.H. Ivans

The Stoner from Europa

“The fuckin’ surf sucks, bro”. “No shit, dude. I have eyes. What the fuck?” “Ah, well, let’s just chill and see what’s what before we hang it up”, the young, blonde, teenager said to his friend, an almost carbon copy of himself. Tall, lean with ab muscles well-defined, long golden hair tucked behind both of their ears, wearing their wetsuits with the tops rolled down to their waists leaving their tanned and hairless chests naked. Both were blue-eyed descendants from the waves of immigrants who had been coming to SoCal since the turn of the 19th to the 20th Century. Drawn by fame and fortune in Hollywood, millions had come and millions had failed, but in the process of discovery those same immigrants realized that SoCal had the best weather in the world, so they stayed. The thing is, these were almost uniformly the nation’s most beautiful and handsome people who having realized their only talent was being pretty, settled down to become great looking cops, firemen, plumbers, accountants, lawyers, etc. then marrying and producing lots of kids that looked like these two: handsome and fit. The apples don't fall far from the tree and apple trees can only make apples. Yet since everyone they knew fell from the same kind of gorgeous tree, they were only vaguely aware of their good looks as they moved through life with the confidence and cool that so often beauty can assure regardless of whether the bearer knows it.