Alive most before the sun rises, I wake with energy. I know I must leave my apartment now. Two stretches, one prayer, a spot of tea, and a kiss on Grace’s sleepy cheek—I’m gone. The surfboard fits in the car. I ride a short guy, sleek, quality, the type that took me fourteen years of patience with the Pacific to earn. It never gets that dark at night in the Bay (light pollution) so dawn in Oakland is especially bright. At this hour, though, it’s yet dark enough to feel sly. Quiet enough to feel alone.