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Euphoria centers on CDC researcher Abby Arcane. When she returns to her childhood home of Houma, Louisiana, in order to investigate a deadly swamp-borne virus, she develops a surprising bond with scientist Alec Holland — only to have him tragically taken from her. But as powerful forces descend on Houma, intent on exploiting the swamp’s mysterious properties for their own purposes, Abby will discover that the swamp holds mystical secrets, both horrifying and wondrous — and the potential love of her life may not be after all.

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Never said those sorts of low insults siblings regret later… The kind of comments families can forgive at the time but never forget to the grave. We didn’t do that shit. Rhonnie and I were a perfect pair. For whatever reason, his name had a silent h. A family mystery not even mom could explain. But such a unique spelling was only the beginning of Rhonnie’s wacky, charismatic personality. Neither of us were very tall. We were skinny, average-height teens. Athletic enough to enjoy sports without being particularly good at them. Surfing included. Rhonnie’s face was more angular. Pretty even with those big green eyes and straight dark hair. He had an electric smile. That being said, I guess you’d describe me as more rough. Handsome, yeah, but my face was rugged. Green eyes that weren’t as big as Rhonnie’s. Hair that wasn’t quite as neat or dark. We both had big noses and loud voices. Not to mention a shared wicked sense of humor. One that we always cultivated all the way up to Rhonnie’s death. Even scrawnier than us, Jack had been my best friend since elementary school. Much like Rhonnie and I, he came from a blue-collar background. His long curly hair and beady eyes gave him a shaggy rock star vibe, well before The British Invasion. Jack loved music. The guy was a great drummer… And needless to say, he was the one who turned us on to alcohol and pot. Him and I would always wreak havoc. Our reckless rebelliousness carrying over into our teenage years. Jack always the class clown without a cause. But through his antics and wild streak, Jack had heart… unlike some of my other friends. And Jack’s compassion is what really endeared him to Rhonnie and I. At least what made my older brother put up with his crazyass. That Thursday, the three of us drove to Tybee. We spent several hours on the pier. Loitering in the summer breeze. Languishing in the speakers’ endless parade of The Beach Boys and Ronettes. Within minutes, we had the attention of three pretty girls. All of them students at Savannah High. Rhonnie immediately landed the prettiest one: Jessica. A dark brunette who was the closest to Annette Funicello I’d seen outside the drive-in screen. Not to mention the oldest of her crew at sixteen. Jack and I were left with the freshmen scraps… not that we were complaining. Molly was a tall blonde. Okay maybe her face wasn’t the best, but I’d hooked up with worse. Suzy was a cute, chubby blonde, and Jack was on her like a starstruck fanboy. As The Trashmen’s “Surfin’ Bird” surrounded us, our group enjoyed the pier’s perks. The Tybrisa Pavilion home to a funhouse and cheap carnival games. The type of shit ideal for an improv first date. Jack and I just followed Rhonnie’s lead. Sure, maybe he wasn’t happy to foot the bill for six sundaes at The Sugar Shack or to split the twelve-pack he kept in the Woodie, but he had his sights set on Jessica. And we couldn’t blame him. The weather was nice. The chemistry between the girls and us warmer than Tybee’s simmering heat. On the main strip, we congregated by Rhonnie’s Woodie and Jessica’s red Chrysler. Our gazes admiring both the passing Hot Rods and each other. 1963 never felt more fun. There was energy. The Beach Boys blasted off the radio, our long hot afternoon scored to classics like “In My Room” and “Surfer Girl. ” Above all, we felt invincible. Not us against the world. We weren’t rebels without a cause. We owned the moment. Friends freed from the stress and poverty. Tybee was all ours. Rhonnie, Jack, and I all got lucky. With kisses and first base at least. Then Rhonnie reminded us why the Hell we were out here in the first place. And when the girls saw his longboard… well. You get the idea. Jessica followed us over to Rhonnie’s favorite spot: a secluded area along the shore. One complete with a view of Tybee’s lighthouse. The lighthouse the type of towering antique every island claims is haunted... only on Tybee, that baby was a tourist trap without a fanbase. Regardless, seeing the black-and-white abyss spiral into the sky always made for pretty background. We set anchor about twenty feet away from the roaring Atlantic. The water was choppy, ferocious. Tybee well known for its ridiculous riptides, and today was no exception. Once Rhonnie was done showing off his surfing skills, I dreaded the pressure Jack and I would face at following up… Neither of us knew a damn thing about using that green longboard. Hopefully by then, we’d all be too buzzed to care if Molly and Suzy laughed at our amateur act. Like a picnic, we had our station out on those soft blankets. Just us, the girls, the transistor radio. And a big cooler full of more booze. Life’s essentials. On the radio, Jack and I went back-and-forth... Between the Red Sox game for us and hit radio for the chicks. Around four, we settled in on the tunes. Bobby Vinton’s “Blue Velvet” enhanced both our shared beer buzz and sudden romances. At ease, I scanned the scene. The white sand. The scattered seaweed. Stray seagulls. Not to mention the empty beer bottles and crushed cigarettes all over the place. We were alone in our bathing suits. The boys in our long dark trunks, the girls in their one-pieces... except for Molly. Luckily for me she wore that purple two-piece and wore it well on that long, lean body. There was silence save for our chatter and laughter. And the steady, violent waves. Together, we formed our own beach movie. Okay, so maybe Jack and I were the skinny sidekicks to Rhonnie’s chiseled hunk, but we had the babes and the good music. Far away from mom and dad’s complaining… In a wild flourish, Jack rummaged through the cooler. He tossed out a baseball and a few comic books before revealing a few more six-packs. Molly and I’s eyes gravitated toward the horror comics. There was Tales From The Crypt, The Vault Of Horror. The comics full of simultaneous sleaze and scares. Their grisly covers leaving nothing to the imagination… Especially one depicting rotten bodies pulling themselves out of the grave. Disgusted, Molly picked up one of the Crypt comics. “How can y’all read this shit? ” she asked in her Southern accent. I cracked a smile as Jack handed me another beer. “Why wouldn’t we? ” I quipped. In a drunken stumble, Jack fell back on his ass. Right beside a giggling Suzy. “Yeah, it’s good stuff, man. ” Still holding the comic, Molly flashed me a bemused look. I clanged my beer into hers. “You got zombies, vampires, ” Jack went on. Playful, he pretended to tear into Suzy’s neck. “Werewolves! ” “Stop it! ” Suzy shouted through the laughter. Shaking her head, Molly threw the Crypt-Keeper down. She stole a glance out toward the ocean. Toward my surfing brother. “Hey, I heard they got those zombies out here on Tybee! ” Jack further teased Suzy. “They come out at night! ” Suzy gave him a light shove. “You’re so full of shit! ” Molly grabbed a hold of my hand. The sun showcased her bright eyes. Her smile met mine. “Your brother’s pretty fine…” “Yeah, ” I replied in my Southern drawl. Together, we looked off toward the Atlantic. Toward Rhonnie’s toned body conquering the latest rogue wave. There was Jessica on the shoreline. Watching him with entranced eyes. “Good-looking bastard, ain’t he? ” I said. Molly chuckled. Just as The Crystals’ “Da Doo Ron Ron” started on Jack’s radio. And just as my summer day got even brighter… Hotter. Leaning back, my other hand drifted away from the blanket. Rather than soothing sand, I felt soft silk. Nothing sunk through my grip… Confused, I looked toward the ground. Toward the cluster of white feathers sitting at my side. They formed a small village... but there was no other sign of life near them. No footprints, no blood. The feathers much too small and frail to be from some of the fat seagulls strutting the beach. Over the radio, I could hear Molly’s terrible singing. Her shrill cover of “Da Doo Ron Ron” sure to scare away any tourists or teens. But in that moment, my focus stayed on the feathers. Their scattered arrangement... Like a Tybee Island air raid, a burst of soggy sand blasted me in the shoulder. The explosion startled Molly and I. Screaming, she jumped back. Jack’s cackling erupted over Phil Spector’s Wall Of Sound. “I didn’t mean to interrupt! ” he joked. Standing right by us, Jack’s wicked smile faced Suzy’s. “You asshole! ” Molly hurled back at him. Flashing a grin, I grabbed a chunk of sand. “Is your name Jack or Mack! ” I shouted. Jack smirked. “What? ” I saw a confused Suzy grab his arm. “I thought it was Jack? ” With a battle cry, I lunged up and flung the sand at them. The fight was on. Amidst the laughter and doo wop, the four of us engaged in wild beach combat. The beer made our throws sloppy. And our joy only greater. Running in from the water, Rhonnie threw his hands up in dismay. “Hey, what the Hell are y’all doing! ” his deep voice shouted. Jessica threw her arms around him. Her eager hands moving all along his body. Her laughter echoing down the desolate shore. Molly staggered into me, knocking the two of us on to a blanket. Our smiles omnipresent. Our next kiss the most potent yet. “Hey, it’s your turn, Donnie! ” I heard Jack yell. Shattered from the daytime sparks, I faced him. “Aw, shit... ” Chuckling, Molly ran her hand down my bony chest. “Come on, you should do it! ” She leaned in closer. The seduction obvious. “I’ll watch you! ” “Yeah, man! ” Jack said. Rhonnie jammed the longboard at my feet. The green anchor sunk straight into the sand. Rhonnie’s hand gripped the top of the board. Jessica clinging to his side. Rhonnie’s smile grabbing my attention like always. “Your turn, man, ” he said. Now I felt real pressure. Especially once Molly squeezed my shoulder. Her other hand drifting down toward my ass. “Ooh, I wanna see! ” she cooed. I had no choice. Even if I hated surfing. Even if I didn’t know what the Hell I was doing other than embracing the culture and girls. This 1963 rite of passage still had to be done. Dragging the longboard, I made my way down toward the ocean. A half-empty longneck in my hand. Literally following my brother’s footprints. The roaring waves offering a brief escape from the summer heat. Behind me, I heard my friends’ cheers. And Jack’s jeers. Not to mention Molly walking closer toward me. I stopped and turned to see her slender frame standing a few feet away. Her eyes and smile latched on to me. “You got this one, Donnie! ’ Rhonnie gave me a smug nod. He and the others all held fresh beer. But behind Rhonnie’s grin was an encouraging expression. He always had my back. “Surfin’ USA” was the soundtrack to the scene. To the sea. Jack’s radio somehow louder than the action in the north Atlantic. Bracing myself, I downed that hot beer in one cool swig. A beaming smile conquered my face. Like a cheerleader at a drag race, Molly clapped in excitement. All for me. I tossed the empty bottle at her feet. Gave Molly a wink. Then I confronted the blue mass waiting on me. Battling the adrenaline, I charged toward the Atlantic. My footsteps heavy in the soft sand. But as I got closer to the water, slight sparkling caught my eye. There submerged in the ocean’s shallowest depths were old chunks of metal. Too heavy to be handcuffs. Too painful to be modern. Not even a century of currents could tarnish those chains and shackles. I wanted to come to a scared stop. After all, the sight sent chills down my spine. As did Savannah’s nasty history… Thoughts of slavery and torture temporarily subdued my buzz. “Get in, you chicken! ” Jack hollered in his nasally tone. “You got this, Donnie! ” Rhonnie joined in. Their voices, the girls’ excitement, and The Beach Boys themselves compelled me. There was no going back now. Finally, I hopped on to the longboard. On my stomach and kicking like a desperate dog determined not to drown. Rather than relief, I felt the lingering dread. The cold sea further chilled me to the bone. Forming waves stared me down. And the deeper I descended, the less I heard my friends. My brother. The music now faded off into the distance… Yet the water got warmer. A sudden heat unnatural in those pre-Global-Warming days. Nervous, I looked down. The sea was clear… Just far from blue or green. A red tapestry swirled all around me. Warm vivid blood. “Shit! ” I cried. Panicking, I staggered up on to the board. Not ready to hang ten but to get the Hell off this red island. My legs growing wobbly, I stood there awkward. A simultaneous scared and shitty surfer. Screams beckoned me from the shore but I couldn’t hear them. Nor did I notice the towering wave… until it was too late. That monster smashed right into me. A heavy dose of salty seawater doused me. But the ocean’s mean right hook couldn’t take me down. Instead, I staggered forward, somehow keeping my balance on the longboard. With miraculous agility, I rode the wave straight into shore. A smooth landing after a rough battle. On the radio, The Surfaris’ “Wipe Out” was now my victory song. Only Molly wasn’t there to cheer me on… I stumbled into the shallow water. Stole a glance over at those lodged chains as I snagged the board. Loud shouting echoed toward me. Yelling I could hear even over “Wipe Out, ” I heard an audio of adult anger and teenage tantrums. Not to mention Rhonnie’s cool, calm voice. Turning, I looked toward the drama unfolding. Right at our spot. A square mom and dad were yanking Jessica away. Both of them in ugly shorts and tee shirts. Judging by the tan skin and dark hair, I could tell they were her folks. Their shared glares ruining whatever beauty they had left in them. Much less whatever heart they had. Alarmed, I ran upshore, dragging the surfboard with me. The mom shuttled an angry Molly and Suzy ahead of her. Corralling the girls like cattle. They were being led away from “Wipe Out” and the booze. Away from summer and back toward their suburban cells. Respectful, Rhonnie approached the parents. His tone nowhere near hysterical, his body language avoiding all histrionics… Unlike the adults harassing us. “Just listen, ” I heard him say. Jack stood by the cooler. His grin long gone. Replaced instead by a grave worry we never showed during those long hot months… Especially when we were far away from school. Far away from authority. Jessica’s dad gave Rhonnie a harsh shove. “Get lost, creep! ” he hurled at my brother. “Back off, asshole! ” I shouted. Irate, I charged forward. Dropped the longboard by a stunned Jack. With a calm hand, Rhonnie held me back. “Hey, don’t worry about it. ” Everyone watched me. The girls intrigued. The mom worried. But I still stood by Rhonnie. My glower still focused on Jessica’s folks. “Naw, I saw him push you! ” I said to Rhonnie. Her dad pointed at us. “And you better be glad we don’t have y’all arrested, boy! ” he yelled. “Look, sir, we’re sorry, ” Rhonnie said. He stole a glance at Jessica. His confidence coming back once he saw her sly smile. “We didn’t mean to get them in trouble, ” Rhonnie told the parents. Behind steady green eyes, he looked back and forth between the mom and dad. His sincerity in the spotlight. “It’s my fault, honestly. I’ll take responsibility. ” He waved toward the girls. “Just don’t blame them. Please. ” Even the mom was impressed. For a moment, the crowd was riveted. No one said a word. Scoffing, the dad waved his wife off toward the parking lot. “Ah, take them back, Barbara. ” The girls groaned in unison. Jessica’s father faced Rhonnie. “Guess I can’t blame you for not knowing they were out sneaking around. ” The mom led the three girls away. But not before the young women waved back. Their hungry eyes stayed fixated on us all the way. “Bye, Donnie, ” I heard Molly say in her sultry Southern tone. “I’ll leave you boys be, ” Jessica’s dad continued. “But I suggest you get home. It gets crazy out here at night. ”. “Yes sir, ” Rhonnie replied. In a grumbling exit, the dad turned and followed after his wife. His steps dutiful. His mood forever grumpy. We watched our temporary loves walk away. Even when we knew we’d be back in their arms soon enough. Jessica even managed to blow a kiss to Rhonnie before disappearing up those wooden steps. Molly’s final wave etched itself in my young mind. A memory I’d always cherish. The coda to an amazing first date. The sun now began to set. The summer’s simmering glow grew dimmer. The three of us now stood on a melancholy stage. All alone. Colder in the isolation as a breeze ripped through. Rhonnie smirked at Jack and I. “Well. That was fun. ” I gave Jack a playful shove. “Yeah, thanks for helping us back there, tough guy. ” Laughing, Jack retrieved a few more beers. “Hey, Rhonnie could handle it on his own. ” He tossed Rhonnie a bottle. “Like always, right, Rhonnie? ” Rhonnie grinned. “Hey, someone’s gotta watch out for y’all clowns. ” He took a quick sip. Ready to get the party back on track, Jack turned up the radio. Dion’s “Donna The Prima Donna” instantly warmed us from Tybee’s notorious windchill. Jack sang along with glee. Our summer joy resurrected… regardless of the invading darkness. Thirty minutes later, the three of us polished off that last six-pack. Rhonnie’s flashlight our only light. Lounging on the blankets, we didn’t need parties or girls. We just had each other. The Chiffons’ “He’s So Fine” further fueled our buzz. “Wait, you said you saw blood? ” Jack said. I smirked. “I mean it was in the water, man. ” Rhonnie gave me a light shove. “No way! ” “I swear! ” I replied. Taking another sip, my dazed eyes drifted off toward the lighthouse. The skinny, tall building like a skeletal tombstone on the shore. Its top light nothing more than a weak orb. “Maybe it was a shark or something, ” Jack said. “I know those assholes get pretty close. ” Chuckling, Rhonnie took another swig. “Well, I’m proud of you, Donnie. ” He patted me on the back. Always an honor. “You handled that wave like a champ. ” “You think so? ” I asked. “Yeah. I taught you well. ” A sly chuckle escaped Rhonnie’s lips. Nighttime was upon us. But I wasn’t afraid. I could see the stray streetlights near the wooden steps. Hear the constant waves. Still feel the mesmerizing marks Molly and the girls left upon us. “Hey, you didn’t teach me! ” Jack joked to Rhonnie. Rhonnie waved him off. “Aw, you’re helpless, man! ” He took another sip. Getting drunker by the second, Jack turned down the transistor. The Chiffons no match against his rowdy voice. “For real, did you get that girl’s number! Cause I was telling Suzy we can take the Woodie to the drive-in tomorrow! ” Rhonnie flashed that smile. “Of course, I did. ” “My man! ” Jack howled. Laughing, I let Jack give me a high-five. “We’ll do it again! ” Jack shouted. Rhonnie leaned back. “I’ll think about it. Y’all can’t even drive. ” Together, we shared a chuckle. Then Jack went silent. Panic crossed his face. “What’s up? ” Rhonnie asked him. Shushing us, Jack leaned in closer. “Listen! ” He turned the radio down a little more. A chant crawled toward us. A soft singing ringing in from the sea. Multiple voices, multiple tones. All of them coming together to form a creepy chorus. The three of us looked further down shore. Where the noises were coming from. Beyond the sand, the singing marched on through the darkness… getting closer and closer toward us. Rhonnie grabbed the flashlight. “Y’all wait here! ” Nervous, I grabbed his arm. “Naw, what are you doing! ” I said. In a tight grip, Rhonnie snatched my wrist. For once, his face showed worry. Concern. “Just stay here, Donnie, alright. I’m gonna check it out. ” I let him go. I trusted Rhonnie. Always. “You sure? ” Jack asked him. But Rhonnie didn’t respond as he tracked the noise. Down the shore, the eerie hymn only got louder. Heightened by more and more voices. Like a beach concert we couldn’t see. And one I wasn’t sure we wanted to. Left on the blankets, Jack and I watched my brother rush toward the chant. His flashlight in hand. His steps cautious and quick. A sudden burst of water distracted us. Not a crashing wave. Not even a splash. Just a slow rise… We looked toward the ocean. Toward the dark depths lying before us. Under the faint lighthouse’s beam, Jack and I saw where faint ripples remained... “What the Hell’s that! ” I said. We exchanged nervous looks. “Maybe it’s nothing, ” Jack stammered. But I knew better. Holding my final beer, I got up and staggered toward the sea. Jack right behind me. “Donnie, wait! ” I heard him cry. In the dark, I didn’t have footprints to rely on. Just my own disturbed intuition. Combined with the continual chanting, I felt compelled to the spot. To the ripples the lighthouse illuminated. Far away from where Rhonnie and I had surfed earlier. “Donnie, come on! ” Jack yelled. A few feet away from the water, I somehow splashed into something. And so did Jack. Together, we stopped, paralyzed in fear. The putrid smell hit us first. Then we looked down into a red stream. One dominated by white feather islands. Out of nowhere, Jan & Dean’s “Surf City” erupted off the radio. A sudden surge in surf rock to go along with our sudden scare. “What the Hell’s that! ” Jack screamed. We saw beheaded chickens littering the soggy sand. Rows and rows of headless corpses. An entire decapitated coop. The collective blood kept building up beneath our feet. The lighthouse basking those countless chickens in an eerie light. The waves unable to sweep their bodies away. Unable to collect anything except flowing crimson... And the missing heads. I reached toward Jack. “Come on, let’s get the Hell out of here! ” “Go! ” a deep voice yelled. Jack and I turned to see Rhonnie running toward us. His flashlight a glowing red flag. Much like the sheer fright in his eyes. “Let’s go! ” Rhonnie yelled. I grabbed my brother’s arm. “What’s going on? ” I waved toward the chicken cemetery. “What is this shit! ” Shivering, Rhonnie’s calmness had now collapsed into a frantic fear. One beyond his control. “They’re right behind me! ” he cried. With that, Rhonnie shined the light behind us. A spotlight to the scare. There they were. Over twenty people chanting in unison. All of them black, all of them wearing ripped colorful robes. Beads, headbands, necklaces. They were a chorus of the dead. Their dark eyes didn’t so much look at us as stare blankly into our souls. All as their mumbled prayers grew louder… and as their army marched closer. The lightower’s beam reflected off so much sharp silver. Off the group’s arsenal of machetes and long knives. Much of the blades coated in bloodied feathers. Some held bright torches. Their small bongos reached a rapturous rhythm. A tribal beat only matched by their chaotic voices. “We gotta get out of here, man! ” Rhonnie shouted, unusual terror in his voice. “Come on! ” Before we could react, the cold night tide gave us yet another scare. A ferocious wave slammed into our ankles. And into the dead chickens lying beside us. “Shit! ” Jack cried. The waves then roared to life. An explosion erupted, the sea parted ways. The powerful bursts echoed through the night. Many figures emerged from the swirling dark blue water… From a hypnotic whirlpool. Nervous, I looked on at the Atlantic. Too scared to look away. Tall black specters stood in the ocean. Both men and women. Their empty glares watched us. Their bodies dressed in rags and torn formal clothes not of this century. The bodies still strong. Not waterlogged or decomposing... Still strong and fighting for life well over a century later. Stray chains stayed attached to their wrists. Their gaunt eyes withdrawn like empty clouds. No sign of life displayed anywhere except in the group’s slow, methodical walk. Through the cold water they waded. Straight for us. Their arms extended out for fresh flesh. The deceased slaves desperate to escape death. Their shackles were no different than the ones I saw earlier. And the waves did nothing to slow them down. The zombies moved steady and quick. Driven faster toward land by the cryptic chant swirling around us… The smell lingered. The dead chickens. The gore. The nauseating stench of recent slaughter... I cringed. But the dread built up inside me. Never leaving as long as I stayed on Tybee Island. From the sea, a dark-skinned woman in a headwrap reached toward me. Her limbs long and lanky. Salt water dripping off skinny fingers clamoring for my neck. Panicking, Rhonnie grabbed my arm and pulled me back. “Run! ” he cried. Now I saw how far ahead Jack was. His instincts instantly sent him running. As did his immense terror. “Go to the Woodie! ” Rhonnie cried. The crowd’s creepy chorus hit a crescendo. Their collective voodoo chant accelerated by that bongo beat. Turning, I looked down shore. Now a few blacks were running toward us. Raising their torches and machetes like weapons for a forthcoming battle. I just didn’t know if it was to attack us… Or to greet the undead they’d resurrected. And I sure as Hell didn’t want to find out. Especially once I heard a vicious charge come splashing through the ocean. I looked over to see those zombies gunning for us. Every single one of them. Their eyes still in a horrific haze. Their mouths agape to match the chorus of that constant chant... Not in a pretty voice but in a tormented cry through the night. Rhonnie yanked me further toward our blankets. Our station. “Run, Donnie! ” Amidst the adrenaline, I saw Rhonnie’s flashlight guide us. Saw the lighthouse spotlight Jack’s scared silhouette up ahead. Jack now hauling ass up those creaking stairs. But the singing got closer. As did the ferocious footsteps. Faster than those hungry waves… “Surf City” drew me back to our station. The radio kept playing… Even this low, Jan & Dean’s harmonies still lured me in. The green longboard compelled me. An item of worship surrounded by so many beer bottles. I stopped and reached for it. Eager to save my brother’s cherished memento. Then I felt Rhonnie yank me closer toward him. Like a policeman’s pull but only stronger. More motivated by love than duty. “Let’s go! ” he yelled. Using all my strength, I stopped him. Regardless of the horror descending upon us. “I gotta get your board! ” I said. In a determined yank, Rhonnie dragged me away. “Fuck the longboard! ” he shouted. I stole one look back. Back toward the blacks all congregating on Tybee’s desolate shore. There was singing. Cries both happy and painful. Reunions going on by the sea and in the cold water. All of it amidst the glowing torchlight. On the way out, Rhonnie and I’s frightened feet kicked up clusters of sand. “Surf City” slowly left our lives. As did the surfing phase. We never went back for Rhonnie’s longboard. And we never would. 14.

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I hope we can continue to enjoy not only buck tick's music and videos in better quality but also many, many more of their contemporaries. Aaah what a time to be a fan♡♡♡♡.

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