71 How cool are surfers

A glossy but unbogus national magazine rated California surfers the coolest people in the world. French fashion professionals were a close second, and Brazilian teenagers in toto showed honorably at number three. An asterisked comment cited a consensus among individuals interviewed in the California, French, and Brazilian groups that Hawaiian surfers were the world’s coolest people. An Editor’s Note in italics followed. It explained the Hawaiians had been contacted and observed and broke the mold, therefore were unquantifiable. The italicized note continued with the Editor’s pique at having to paddle through shark-infested waters at Makapu’u before getting a brief if knowing nod that constituted the entire interview.
Thus five of the world’s coolest people, never too cool not to want a cup of coffee, pulled close to the Plip Plop Coffe Shop in a 1962 Buick Roadmaster station wagon and parked legally, in contradistinction to bicycles parked pell-mell on San Anselmo’s sidewalk. Parenthetically, the surfers were too cool to know they’d been rated non plus ultra, and put on no airs. Of course, they were never inclined to.
“Say whoa!” one of them barely breathed.
He’d espied bicyclists dropping like flies.
The five decided not to proceed through the front door.
“Who needs the hassle, man. Check out the kid.”
“Whisshhh, whisshhh,” another of the driftwood quintet uttered, approximating in sound the airy slashes of the flyswatter before it made an exterminating contact.
Mei in the Peony Pavillion, as enacted by Zhang Ziyi, was not more graceful than baby Drew in the Plip Plop Coffe Shop. And Zhang Ziyi is the most graceful person in the world.
“Catch ‘House of Flying Daggers’?” was a coolest person rhetorical question. Beyond a doubt, all had.
“Now we’re catchin’ this.”
“Smokin’.”
“Kid’s cool. Let’s go to Fairfax.”
“Coffee.”
“Ko. Fay.”
“Cool.”

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