On Goat Rock Beach, where the Pacific smashes against the volcanic rocks, he stood alone next to his 9-foot surfboard. The monolith nearby stood like a guardian, draped in a mist the sun struggled to penetrate. He was wearing this chambray-lined hoodie—the best I could tell, it was this hoodie. It hung loose on his frame. The fabric, a garment-washed soft cotton, bore the marks of wear—faded in places where his arms would fold, around the elbows, where life insisted on making itself known. Its front pockets offered a haven for his 
hands, which he buried deep within as he observed and planned. 

He was a solitary figure against the vast, moving canvas of water and sky around him. His casual stance suggested a certain reliability and endurance, capable of withstanding the untamed chaos in front of him, like he had seen it before. 

I hope you enjoy this hoodie. It was designed for doing.