It's three years till I'm twenty four,
and I don't want to die in a nuclear war.
We're building weapons while our children starve,
when are we gonna recognize?

No glory in war.

"Look dude," he said to me, actually trying to be friendly, "you're over like a deep spot, so waves don't jack here. You're not going to catch anything." It troubled him to condescend, but it was excellent advice and a generous gesture, and he went on, making his first crack at being a great surfer and a descent guy. "Might as well come out to the peak for a few," he said, and then he snapped. He'd almost done it, almost done a good deed, but as he paddled off, he said over his shoulder, "Least you might get better."