It was still dark as we walked to the subway. Cabby's milled around corner markets after driving all night enjoying the calm before rush hour. The train platform was quiet too as we kept neat our gear and waited for the Rockaway bound L. The clattering of the train battered down the rail and became elevated as the early rays of dawn pierced between the buildings. Everything was pretty ordinary about the morning so far. Concealed though in a cloth bag clenched between my friends hands was a finless surfboard shaped by a friend Joe. A most unordinary surf craft that looks more at home in an aviation museum. A hard railed board, with deep channels on the bottom, and a foiled slender nose. With no other boards at his disposal, my friend just figured he'd finally give the board a shot which he had been meaning to for sometime. On the ordinary train ride down, I did not know I was about to witness the most next level surf riding in person that I have ever seen in New York waters. As I did my same ol' day in day out bob and weave in the surf, I would catch glances of my friend trimming down in perfect position on the wave, tucking down to fade behind the curtain, emerge, slide the tail out, regain control and end with a 360 in the soup. I had to inspect closer. Time in time out most rides went like this. The beautiful contrast of the moment were the beginner surfers fruitlessly scratching for the same waves as a rider without fins effortlessly glided across the surface. The two couldn't be more prefect.

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