I want to move to an Island off the coast of Los Angeles where you drive golf carts to the corner store and read poems with your girlfriends on park benches in the warm Southern California sun.
I want to get lost in a world of ferry rides and wind blown salt water hair.
I want to eat freshly caught lobster at a table on the corner of a dock and watch Mexican boys laugh as they dive off the bow of their makeshift summer home.
I want to sail from port to port with my dad and spend my days in trucker caps and scuba t-shirts.
I want to swim with the fish and kick my way to the corral reef to pick up starfish and sand dollars from the ocean floor.
I want to quit my job, sell my house, and write screenplays on a water proof laptop in the cabin of my Antique, wooden Chris Craft.
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