break.

circling back to itacare, brazil, high in the air. the last time i was there, between sessions of being tumbled by the ocean's wash, surfboard tangled somewhere deep below (above?), i was checking my email madly to see if a mission had come through. this time i will be doing it to see if i get to travel to London to accept the John Llewyn Rhys prize for the book i wrote about the one that eventually did. it might be the only compelling reason in the world to leave brazil early. in the hold below me, in my backpack underneath pairs of shorts and sunglasses and different flavors of Frisbees is an overcoat, a scarf, galoshes, a shirt, and a tie.