By John Hubbuch
As my week in Florida draws to a close I will soon have only my fading tan and memories of these Florida scenes.
Almost everywhere I look I see stores with the word "Surf" in the name. Never mind that I haven't seen a single surfer all week. These stores sell sand toys,shells,tee shirts,key chains,snow globes and flip flops featuring dolphins,starfish and alligators. Tropical decorative debris. Until now I never appreciated that hurricane property damage could be a good thing.
Between 4PM and 6PM the beach comes alive with Happy Hour revelers at all the watering holes. The music grows louder. The cigarette smoke thickens. The laughter grows more raucous. It's 5'clock everywhere. Although I quit drinking almost 25 years ago, I'm slightly envious of the revelers. Slightly.
And then there are the modesty challenged men and women that walk the beach displaying more sagging flesh than a senior Hooter's convention. I'm left to speculate as to the reasons for this corpulent display. Did these folks sustain an injury to the modesty lobe of the brain? Is it the senior equivalent of blue hair or nose piercings? I just don't get it.
I'm back to Chicago on the the 10:30 AM flight. It's time.
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