The vacation was supposed to drive my career. Not drive me into the arms of a surfer with a bad attitude and a worse reputation.
Three weeks in paradise. Ten photos for my portfolio. Seems easy enough. Well, it’s not.
The airline lost my camera bag, my hotel is a dump, oh, and did I mention I nearly drowned? The locals say I’m lucky to be alive. And I owe it all to the heavily tattooed surfer with a blood-curdling scowl.
Forget him. I have bigger problems. My photos suck—no better than a tour...
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