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From the first uttrance of "Shirley!" in that unmistakeable accent, I'm transported.My skin feels dry and crusty from dried-on sea salt, the side effect of another Sunday spent surfing. It's late on a Sunday night in 1987, and I'm hastily finishing my homework half-heartedly while paying most of my attention to the living room television. 120 Minutes is on, but not so loud as to wake up Mom. I'...
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