Picture the scene: it's another lazy Sunday in Santa Monica. You've woken up late and the sun creaks through the blinds. Your bedroom—white-walled, wooden-floored—smells of patchouli, sandalwood, and the atomized zing of a thousand long and lusty nights. You stumble to the fridge, cracking open the last of the party's beers, and head out into the blinding afternoon heat. The beach is the only place you want to be, the only place that makes sense, the only place you could possibly go on a day like this.
So you head there, without a care in the world and an adequate amount of factor 30 plastered over your bronzed body. Stuffed into your Walkman is a compilation of smoothed-out Japanese disco, lugubriously low-rolling AOR funk, and Chris Rea classics, put together by NTS' newest recruit, Let's Get Yachts. As your toes curl in the sand, you feel all your worries, responsibilities, doubts, fears, and anxieties evaporate into the salty air. You are free.
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