8-27 2:10 PM W
Morro Bay.  From the patio table here in front of our hotel room I can see the rock through the masts across the bay.  A steady wind blows across the pool.  The wind was cited as the reason the fishing boat didn't go out this afternoon.  I guess we'll try tomorrow.  Sounds like we'll have trouble finding a campsite around Big Sur.  The later the boat comes back, the more trouble we'll have.  We're going to hit up these restaurants along the embarcadero for happy hour.

[A crude pen and ink line drawing of Morro Bay, the rock, the masts, the pool and more] 4:10 PM Talking with Virginia and an old guy whose name I forgot.  They're telling us about the scandalous love story that led to their togetherness.  He was an ad man for the Wallace-Spokane Spokesman Review.  She was married.  Her husband got thrown in jail at Hayden Lake at an Aryan Nations rally after the two of them had been golfing.   I can't tell if he was for or against the Arayan Nations.  While hubby was in jail, the other two were getting it on in a Wallace hotel.  "Futka and soda," Virginia orders.
Windsurfers on the whitecaps.  Flag on a paddle boat rippling in the wind.  This is the Harbor Hut.  The bartender asked if anybody wanted anything else because she would be away for a few minutes.  I said, "Don't worry.  We'll pour our own drinks."  Virginia and whatshisname are trying to arrange an orgy with Shirelle and me at their place in Santa Clarita.  Old fisherman on my other side has a biceps like a tough tomato.