Huntington Beach Revisited

The Latino lady holding a cane took too long to register. The more the Indian manager tried to expedite her registration, the more she wished to speak about her tall boy Miguel. As it was going on  one o'clock on Friday, I heard the voice of God.
   "Get your ass away from the Motel Six. It is time for you to visit Mel."
Now my God Hashem never needs to tell me twice. It was going on one 0'clock. I gassed up and took the freeway. We had one small hitch at going through San Clemente and a larger, and meaner one about four miles from my destination, the Westminster Motel Six.
    I paid my 64 dollars and took a nap. I planned to see him over dinner at the Rustic Assistant Living Center. My lungs struggled to clean out its engines. Mel looked relieved after I consented not to break bread with him.
   "You know Mr. Miser will become belligerent and maybe throw me out if he sees you eating at my table." I left and wasted-away my time later at a Huntington Senior dance and a poo-poo meal at Norms.
 
    On Saturday, I felt much better. There is nothing like air-conditioning on a sizzling dry day. Mel was in better spirits the next day when I called up to his room. Still he could barely see out of his better eye so I became his vision for the-day. We drove down Beach Blvd. and parked two blocks from the strand. Mel looked eager to catch some sun and told me that their manager Mr. Miser did in fact come to Mel's Tale of four  to see if I had stolen a myopic dinner
    The disabled license plate came in handy. At ten O'clock I found a place not far from the strand. Why it was so clear you could almost eat lunch in Catalina. In front of the large island various colored kites swung and danced in the air. Apparently there was a kite contest.
    I sat Mel down on the concrete bleachers. I needed to sit under the large pier and watch the volleyball players. In fact, I volleyed a bit with a player before returning to my beach chair. In front of me the waves crested just right for the boarders.
    The Asians did not play volleyball. I saw none in the surf. They held high-end cameras and wished to catch, not the waves, but the contrast of the blue, blue sky and colorful kites. It  felt good to unwind. A California Aggie band danced to the sound of football music I felt overwhelmed with the sound of music and scenery that Picasso would have been proud of.  Not finished)