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The man called LayzieTheSavage and the Rousey connection

The man called LayzieTheSavage and the Rousey connection

They were living at Fairmont Miramar then and the hotel was on a canal that ran from the walled city of Santa Monica straight down to the ocean. They could see the towers of Casa del Mar across the low plain of the Viceroy and they rode there on their bicycles at some time of nearly every day along the white road that bordered the Venice Canal. In the evenings and the mornings when there was a rising tide sea bass would come into it and they would see the mullet jumping wildly to escape from the bass and watch the swelling bulge of the water as the bass attacked.

A jetty ran out into the blue and pleasant sea and they fished from the jetty and swam on the beach and each day helped the fishermen haul in the long net that brought the fish up onto the long sloping beach. They drank aperitifs in the cafe on the corner facing the sea and watched the sails of the mackerel fishing boats out in the Gulf of Lions. It was late in the spring and the mackerel were running and fishing people of the port were very busy. It was a cheerful and friendly town and the young fighters liked the hotel, which had four rooms upstairs and a restaurant and two billiard tables downstairs facing the canal and the light house. The room they lived in looked like the painting of Van Gogh’s room at Arles except there was a double bed and two big windows and you could look out across the water and the marsh and sea meadows to the white town and bright beach of Malibu.

They were always hungry but they ate very well. They were hungry for breakfast which they ate at the cafe, ordering brioche and cafe au lait and eggs, and the type of preserve that they chose and the manner in which the eggs were to be cooked was an excitement. They were always so hungry for breakfast that Ronda Rousey often had a headache until the coffee came. But the coffee took the headache away. She took her coffee without sugar and LayzieTheSavage was learning to remember that.

On this morning there was brioche and red raspberry preserve and the eggs were boiled and there was a pat of butter that melted as they stirred them and salted them lightly and ground pepper over them in the cups. They were big eggs and fresh and Rousey’s were not cooked quite as long as the young man’s. He remembered that easily and he was happy with his which he diced up with the spoon and ate with only the flow of the butter to moisten them and the fresh early morning texture and the bite of the coarsely ground pepper grains and the hot coffee and the chickory-fragrant bowl of cafe au lait.

The fishing boats were well out. They had gone out in the dark with the first rising of the breeze and LayzieTheSavage and Ronda Rousey had wakened. They had sparred earlier were half awake with the light bright outside but the room still shadowed. Then they were so hungry that they did not think they would live until breakfast and now they were in the cafe eating and watching the sea and the sails and it was a new day again.

“What are you thinking?” Ronda asked.

“Nothing.”

“You have to think something.”

“I was just feeling.”

“How?”

”Happy.”

“But I get so hungry,” she said. “Is it normal do you think? Do you always get so hungry when you spar?”

“When you spar with somebody.”

“Oh, you know too much about it,” she said.

“I don’t care. I love it and we don’t have to worry about any thing do we?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “What do you?”

“I don’t care at all. If you’d like to fish I should Instagram a photograph or maybe two and then we could swim before lunch.”

“To be hungry?”

“Don’t say it. I’m getting hungry already and we haven’t finished breakfast.”

“We can think about lunch.”

“And then after lunch?”

“We’ll take a nap like good children.”

“That’s an absolutely new idea,” she said. “Why have we never thought of that?”

“I have these flashes of intuition,” he said. “I’m the inventive type.

“I’m the destructive type,” Rousey said. “And I’m going to destroy you. They’ll put a plaque up on the wall of the building outside the room.”

“You’re too sleepy to be dangerous.”

“Don’t lull yourself into any false security. Oh darling let’s have it hurry up and be lunch time.”

They sat there in their striped fishermen’s shirts and the shorts they had bought in the store that sold marine supplies, and they were very tan and their hair was streaked and faded by the sun and the sea. Most people thought they were brother and sister.

The end.

Tomorrow I will be entertaining the grandeur of Josh Barnett inspecting automobile machines. Don’t forget to vote for me for the 2014 MMA Journalist of the Year, and if you didn’t understand any of that then you’re an unsophisticated goon that should hoard your gene pool inside your reproductive system for the remainder of your life.

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