FALL SHOT BY WARD ROBINSON
There was no CALL TIME.
NO head shots to consult.
No PERMITS to pull.
No Stylist to FIGHT with and FIRE.
NO props to METHODICALLY organize.
No WORRIES, NO plans, no SHOTLIST, NO models, NO bullshit.
Just the REAL SALT OF FIRST POINT, MALIBU. Just the BROS, the BABES, the SAND, and the BEERS that can only be found late in season at FIRST POINT when a swell rolls up the COAST at 3 ft, 14 seconds from 213 degrees and the wind spins NW. 48 hours of SUMMER, just in time for FALL.
HANG in the lot long enough and you'll see your BEST friend, a HANDFUL of EX's, Carl on some sort of HUSTLE, and the A-LIST of SURFING's UNRECOGNIZED UNDERCLASS. Degenerates, folk HEROES, hard-ass ENFORCERS, NORMIES, residual tourist babes, WARCHILD, creative DIRECTORS, TRASHERS, surfHOBOS, more and more BABES, and WAVES. You can deal with the complications, WE'LL take our little FUCKED carnival on the POINT.
You MIGHT know who they are, you'll RUN into em sooner or later, but these are our BROS. These are the moths drawn to the FLORESCENT glory of FIRST POINT. Famous, homeless, beautiful and unhinged, these are the REAL ones. The cast of vice-riddled WANDERERS looking for a HOME in the TOOB or against the WALL.
FALL in the AIR, SUMMER on the POINT.