Key Largo

 

I have to tell you I wasn’t much impressed by the Miami bus station way out in the back of the airport, which is, by the way, a very model of your modern architectural marvel, the bus station  all run down and tiny and broke. The folks who run it, however, are cool. Laid back, don’t worry about it, slow down, you’re here it will be OK.

Hot.

Go outside, siddown on the Greyhound standard issue bench and take you a little snooze. Those benches are the same all over the country, metal, uncomfortable to exactly the right degree to prevent casual napping only the desperate can tolerate. Little cast-iron armrests.

A guy on the bench with the most elegant  purple shiny pointy-duck-billed gold buckled men’s shoes and gold grill and the embroidery on the back jeans pockets went all down the sides half to the knee worn, by the way in the fully upright and locked position, and together we snoozed in the fully tropical shade.

And eventually the bus did come and I got on and we did get there to Key Largo.

The next thing I need to tell you is how beautifully I have been received in all my travels. My pals are the great hostesses of the world beyond my imagination and living up to the highest ideals of loving warmth and generosity. Lovely loving homes. Collections of meaningful things chosen and arranged with taste and elegance. Affectionate people. Great food. Crazy cool oddities, personal encouragements at every turn.

We drove in Nan’s convertible all down the Overseas Highway, US 1, all the way to Key West about which so much has been written so well and so thoroughly. It was a hoot. Picture all the yuppies of Chicago with cigars complete and preening girlfriends strutting boldly through a crowded tropical themed mini-mall while being fleeced dollar after dollar by a gang of suntanned hard-faced charming gigolos and you will have the idea.

I swam in the surprisingly salty and warm ocean, collected tiny coconuts and bits of weather-and-wave-worn coral from the wash of tiny wavelets on the beach, while sweaty shirtless men played volleyball and unnaturally skinny women with breasts like artificial pumpkins sashayed forlorn and alone along the strand. Home in the dark.

Nan and Nicole grilled some tenderloins.

We slept.

Today it rained and the wind howled and lightening flashed in the gunmetal roiling cloud and the palm fronds tossed while the birds-of-paradise danced to the thunderous crash. We’re sitting around inside, each to her own laptop tinkling keys, catching up and reaching out. I’m having a damn good time.