Before the fire consumes me

M called me last Friday at 10am and said "Oh my God. I'm freaking out right now. I just lost my job." I pried a few details out of him and immediately hopped out of bed, showered, and headed to his place. We talked and I consoled him, then we decided to hop on the 101 and just drive north for as long as we please. We drove through the 95 degree Valley, causing M to reminisce about his childhood.

50 miles later M told me to take an exit labeled "Pt Mugu". I kept mentioning to M that I wanted to hit the coast eventually, but he kept ignoring me. I figured he was in one of his moods so I just went along with it. We drove through a vast expanse of perfectly flat farmland, just like in the movies. Eventually we made our way onto the 1. There were gorgeous brown barren mountains lining our view.

Then there it was.



The mountains opened up and the sky seemed to stretch out forever over the bright blue ocean. We were at a part of the coast called Point Mugu. And by the way, the 1 is also called the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH), which I did not know at the time. We pulled over at a secluded stretch of rocky coast and ventured out like two curious children.







We played in the waves and we explored the flora and fauna of the tide pools. Alas, not all good things can last. We embraced passionately before we knew we had to leave. We drove south on the PCH through Malibu to Santa Monica and then back to our humble lives in Los Angeles.



I find it terrible to think that the next day Malibu caught fire. I mourn for those who lost their homes and belongings in the fires. I'll forever be grateful for the beauty I got to behold that day.