Any scribe who’s worth his salt eventually moves to Key West. I figure I’ve bull-shited my way this far, I may as well keep going.
Plus, it’s already getting wintery here. Ridiculous. It seems only yesterday we were bitching about the unseasonable gloom of last october. Maybe I’ll write a book- The Autodidactic Fraud Goes South.
Y’all may have noticed we’ve gone completely off track in the last couple of months, posting up poorly composed memoirs and random daydreamy crap. We’re just filling in the gaps with whatever. We have to start posting up more interviews.
After all, that’s what, and how, we do.
Let this drizzly little Sunday afternoon post serve as a pledge to absolutely kill it with the Q & A content from here on in.

Now, look at this satellite photo of Key West (bottom) and imagine yourself flying out the window, over the city, taking a wide arc out across the atlantic, and then lowering yourself down about twenty feet off shore, waist deep in the Caribbean.
Now picture yourself wading onto the beach, and then walking barefoot to the grocery to grab a six pack. Forget the girl in the bikini!
Just get the beer. We must have beer… and a bottle of spiced rum… and some sandwiches.
Thanks, man. I’ll wait here on the beach.

Jesus. Really?

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