The surfer name is a joke thing for a nightmare. He is one of the luckiest men in history.
There was no falling nicely in air – If he had, gravity would have smashed him flat.
He stayed on a small patch of concrete floor.
The building gave way, it did not just snap, it pancake – He rode the debris down.
The crushing-walls and steel created a thick, slow-moving river of trash.
He was in the center, very lucky – The rubble beneath him absorbed the heavy shock.
It acted like a rough cushion – He landed on a jagged pile seven stories up.
Suffered only a broken foot and had some cuts.
But this was not skill.
It was pure, dumb luck. He rode a mountain of death and woke up alive.
Physics spared him, took the rest.