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Everything Under The Sun
Leigh Montville
September 07, 1987
For one amazed Bostonian, Southern California is a wonderland of skateboard wizards and Zen tennis players, the kind of place where a day's work rates well behind a day's play
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September 07, 1987

Everything Under The Sun

For one amazed Bostonian, Southern California is a wonderland of skateboard wizards and Zen tennis players, the kind of place where a day's work rates well behind a day's play

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The kid comes out of the Eastern Airlines concourse at Los Angeles International Airport. I hear him before I see him. He is riding a skateboard.

Clatter....

Clatter....

Clatter....

He is 17 years old. He is 23. Somewhere in between. He is wearing a pair of those baggy flowered shorts and a pair of aquamarine high-top sneakers and a T-shirt advertising some kind of suntan lotion. Two wires are plugged into his ears so he can hear whatever is playing on his radio. His baggage is a knapsack that hangs from his back.

Clatter....

Clatter....

Clatter....

He rolls through the automatic door and over the sidewalk and off the curb—no problem—and across the street. He stops at the traffic island where I am waiting for a ride. He asks a policeman for directions.

"Where do I get the bus for Santa Monica?" the kid asks, looking around.

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