My name is Christopher, and I am the Lower Keys. I am Tony Tarracino. I am Michael McCloud. I am not, however, Jimmy Buffett. He doesn't live here. Let's continue. I love everything about summer in the Keys, and I'm not too good, or too exclusive, for any of it. I drive down the Overseas Highway without air conditioning (although the Honda's AC works perfectly well) and the windows down, and my informal survey of oncoming traffic suggests that only 5-10% (let's round it to 7.5%) of people do that. I need to be in touch with the elements of summer, but it doesn't end there, as you'll see.
Today, I set out innocently enough to go to the Sheriff's Animal Farm in Stock Island. I dropped Grace off for work, but still had another 45 plus minutes to kill, so I decided to go to Hog's Breath Saloon in Key West to try the Hog Burger that so many have raved about. So I parked in my favorite cheap parking lot, $2.50 an hour at Caroline and Grinnell, and walked down Greene Street towards Duval, where I'd take a quick right and cross left over Duval to get to Hog's Breath.
Only it didn't work out that way. Part way down Greene, it started raining. At first, I didn't mind, random convection storm, it'll pass, whatever. I walked mostly beneath awnings and stuck to the plan. But by the time I'd gotten to Hog's Breath, I was soaked head to toe. I got an indoor Table For One, and set to devouring a Hog Burger and Jack and Cokes. The rain would let up soon, and I'd get back on my way to the Animal Farm, and shoot cute videos of cute animals that I was going to pet.
But the rain had other plans. For an hour, it didn't let up. Then, finally, it did. I told Amy to settle my tab, so she brought it over. And the rain, toying with me, started up again, this time worse than before. Hog's Breath's outdoor patio began to flood as the drains did their job, clogging themselves with leaves. I had a problem, then. I was marooned at Hog's Breath with nothing to do but suck down more Jack and Cokes. I did, and they kept comin. The rain kept comin. I scrubbed all plans to visit the Animal Farm. It will be open again in two weeks.
Finally, the rain let up, this time for good. I really settled up this time, and started walking. The streets were flooded with over six inches of water. I had only just begun to dry out from the rain that caught me on the way to Hog's Breath, and there's nothing worse than swampy sandals, so there was no help for it, I decided, but to take the sandals off and wade barefoot through the streets until I got to the wooden pier at the north end of Simonton Street, stopping at the CVS on Lower Duval for a pack of those nasty smokes that seem so fine after a few drinks. There, I sat at the end of the wooden dock, feet in the ocean, waiting for the streets to drain as I pondered my next move, carefully cupping ocean water with one hand and soaking my used butts, and gently laying them next to my shoes for disposal.
I got up. Some older folks bummed smokes off of me as I tossed my extinguished butts into a dumpster. I obliged, "They're no good for me anyway," and set about walking down Simonton, then down Greene towards where I'd abandoned the Honda hours earlier. There, at the parking lot at Simonton and Greene, another daytime drunk zeroed in on my smokes and bummed one. He was a rather jovial character, and I liked him, chin-drool and all, as he told me the story of growing up in Ohio, living in Kissimmee, and living in Key West for 25 years. Two more of his contemporaries showed up, including Dave West. "I'm Dave West!" he would repeatedly exclaim, with precisely the enthusiasm of Dave Chappelle proclaiming himself to be Rick James. They passed a tall can of cheap beer between them and spoke words, only half of which I really caught, due to the thick drunken slurs in which they spoke. I handed out smokes like candy, enjoying their company, and they were glad to have me. I leaned against a post and giggled as they spoke. Malibu Barbie types, straight out of the Hilton on North Duval, walked down the Greene Street sidewalk. One of them said "Oh my god" under her breath, and several of them cupped a hand against one side of their face to guard their vision from the impropriety of us bums drinking and smoking in the beautiful Key West sun. I loved it. Financially, I'm still doing really well, probably better than those girls' daddies, but I'm not too good to laugh with the sinners. Those ladies may be in Key West, but they don't know Key West.
Eventually, I got back to the Honda, after loitering on the boardwalk outside Schooner Wharf to hear Michael McCloud play "Hurricane Blow". I paid my parking fee for the 3 hours' time, and headed back to Saddlebunch to see Grace at work. She was glad to see me, and we passed a quick 10 minutes as I recounted my day's adventure. She had to get back to work, though, and I was wondering if this storm had hit Cudjoe at all and if I'd have to bail water out of the dinghy. I rode home, listening to XM Lithium and Boneyard channels (my new favorites for this summer!) at high volume, until I got home to my furry family. Turns out it hadn't rained a drop in Cudjoe and I had no water to bail out.