Swagazine Five

Island Afternoon, by Swagman

"Discovery Tours Center
Catalina Dept Store
Top Hat Liquor
Pirrone's Confetti-Sundries
Hotel Vista Del Mar
Buoys & Gulls Menswear
High Tide Trades
Edgewater Hotel
Catalina Souvenier Shop
El Galleon
Hotel MacRae
Catalina by the Sea Souvenir Gifts
Catalina Drug Store,"

read signs facing my terra-cotta tile bench seat upon a red brick footing surrounding an 8ft square stucco planter box containing a big shade tree, a perfect spot to see all the shapes and sizes in the steady stream of people passing by my favorite spot in my favorite block along Avalon's waterfront esplanade.

I'm baking in the late afternoon sun. This morning, this same seat was cold from the night but now it radiates the heat of daylong sunshine. I see a man walk with his arm draped over a woman's shoulder, seems not out of love, seems more like an expression of possession. A little girl, about 4 years old, makes a bee-line dash for the sand, ignoring her mother's calls to stop. Seconds later another little girl and another mother play out an identical scene. But I just had to move to the shade, being drenched in sweat & my ass burning from the sun fried terra-cotta bench. Now a cool breeze blows through my clothes making them pleasantly cool, only my sun burnt skin radiates heat.

A woman dressed in all white is taking a tourist picture of her man, making him twist in gyrations to fit a tall palm tree into frame. Nearby, three girls take a turn each, taking pictures of the other two, all the time scolding, posing, and snapping frames. I think of volunteering to take their camera and snap a picture of the 3 of them together, but I do not. Too lazy, too shy.

Most people are flowing towards the cattle-boat exit spot for their brief voyage back to the mainland. Others are moving towards hotels, shops are fixing to close for the day and restaurants are beginning to hop. Irridescent backed pigeons (air rats) are walking about oblivious to all the people.

An old skinny couple, wife with one crutch, pass by too quickly for a crutch to make sense. A sad woman walks past with a sullen sneer. Another passes wearing spike pumps and a summer cotton bag dress looking too weird in a land of flats and sandals. A woman wearing navy sweatpants, white top covered with a chambray workshirt comes to sit near my spot to smoke a cigarette.

I am writing these notes with a golf score keeping pencil the skipper got when he shot a round. I tire of sharpening it with my knife so I go into the Confetti-Sundries store to buy a pen and here she is, in "my" clothes, selling me a pen. I had noticed her earlier sitting on "my" planter box terra cotta bench but I was too lazy, too shy to speak up, but here in my face, I just had to gig her about stealing "my" clothes. I tell her she is wearing "my uniform" and she looks puzzled until she notices my white polo shirt covered with a chambray workshirt and navy shorts - I tell her my navy sweatpants are on my boat - we even have on the same shoes, blue flaps..

The place has really thinned out, it's mostly locals or stayovers now. There is a permanent population of 2600 plus over 1000 illegals living in canyons. Avalon has come to the end of a busy day. The sun is falling behind the ring of rough hills forming the natural amphitheater in which nestles the small town, bowl-like and secure with five different watersheds feeding into the harbor.

My crew-mate on the boat advises me that my chambray shirt is really a fake. What I need, says he, is real Egyptian cotton to possess the bona fide item. He says if you could find one here it would cost over a hundred bucks. He says you can find them for cheap in Paris and if he ever goes there, he'll bring back 50 of them and give me one. Such a display of generosity is touching to say the least, the very least.

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