There is something compelling about a certain class of “boat people.” Florida boat people (which is like the complete opposite of New England “boat people”). Men, mostly. Trawling the Gulf waters with their fishing gear and coolers; these middle-aged Margarita-villagers, these lazy river pirates, who resemble Kris Kristofferson, and wear flip-flops and white t-shirts emblazoned with beer logos. Who dock their boats at the chickee bar and drink a cold can of beer, or a mixed drink, or several, or have the adjacent fish shack fry up their fresh catch for a nominal fee, before taking back to the water.
It’s not a lifestyle I’d aspire to, necessarily, but it is fun to fantasize about while finishing a cigarette in the sun.
