Hey clouds, quit being so majestic. I’m trying to be annoyed by Miami traffic over here.
We finally reach the Keys when a nearby star nearly destroys my left retina.
Here is a picture of the sun setting over Big Pine Key. Note the modern dancers posing as fisherman along the bridge.
Some say the 19th century guest house we stayed in is haunted by the ghost of Cuban cigar heiress Enriquetta Marrero. I submit that the eerie moaning that awoke me at 5am was nothing more than a poorly hydrated Philadephian.
Cowboy Bill’s welcomes back Al Can’t Hang!
Settling in after a long drive.
Jason says the band is from Nashville. I believe him because their sunglasses are non-ironic.
Cock fighting is illegal in the Continental US, but fluffy puppy fighting prevails on Duval St.
Poker on the front porch: Rachel is not buying what Pablo is selling.
Poker on the front porch: Jason assures Rachel she made a good laydown. Pablo probably had quads.
Okay! Birds!
Sunday brunch. Do not ask Rachel about the ladies room.
Seriously.
Don’t.
Southernmost point of the United States. Right behind my khaki-clad ass.
Hammock store!
Coq au vin!
I would like to live here, please and thank you.
Sunset fun, take one.
Change iPhone photographers. Sunset fun, take two.
Al snaps a picture as the sun sets on the eve of his birthday.
That one cloud is really screwing up this shot. God.
People we don’t know on a boat, probably having more fun than you.
