Cruise by the beach

Gary started up the van again. He pulled out of the drugstore parking lot where he'd stopped and decided not to make the call, and headed toward the beach. Hey, he was driving the Super Surf Van, and the beach was its natural habitat. Maybe he'd run into someone he knew.

He cruised around the palm-lined beach loop near downtown, giving a couple of judicious "Hawaii-Five-O" and "La Cucaracha" beeps on the horn when he saw some cute girls or a tricked out surf van. He drove to the beach where he sometimes went to hang out, parked facing the beach, and rolled down the windows to get a breeze. It was nasty hot today, but the breeze near the beach made it pretty OK.

He leaned back against the headrest and drowsily scanned the beach. A few guys, a few girls, a couple dudes in orange vests picking up trash, a guy in a white suit pushing an popsicle cart. The breakers arched up and curled over a little ways out. Even though he didn't know how to surf, he could tell it was kind of a crummy break. Not enough to stop you surfing, just not very good.

He startled out of his doze to a voice at the window saying his name.