I pulled up to the Key Haven Shell on my wife's 150cc ET4 Vespa and lifted the seat to fill the tank with $4.30 premium. "That thing moves," said an off duty UPS employee who pulled up alongside to fill his silver VW Golf. "I was thinking of passing back there and you blew by." He looked at the diminutive cream colored "moped" and added that he was doing 60 miles per hour at the time. Yup, I replied and it gets 70 miles per gallon, as I finished loading one and a half gallons into the tank. "Good for a hundred miles," I said as I pulled out of the gas station.
Asking my wife to drive us home in her convertible was my way of putting the cap on an evening that had not gone exactly as planned. I brought the Vespa to her workplace for her to ride around town and we had talked of having dinner out and going to see Win Win at the Tropic. Paul Giamatti (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Giamatti ) plays a sleazy small town lawyer surrounded by adult losers who pin their hopes of validation on a young wrestler new to town. Great good fun. 
Dinner however went all wrong. How is it possible I ask myself, that every single sodding restaurant is closed on a Monday? Is it a Bittburger conspiracy? Do the restaurateurs gather on a Monday night in someone's living room and have a giant bitch fest about the past week's most annoying customer? We stuffed a meter with coin on Virginia Street (oh Bonneville I miss you and free motorcycle parking) and walked to Sweet Tea, my wife's new favorite. It may be a new venture of the local arch capitalist Chris Belland, man of the people in the Key West Citizen, but it isn't open on Mondays apparently. Nor is my favorite Badboy Burrito on Simonton http://badboyburrito.com/ , nor is Banana Café (La Poivree, a burger with cream peppercorn sauce in a crepe) so we ended up wasting the quarters in the meter and moved the Sebring to park it for free at the courthouse and from there walked to a dinner of Stella Artois and popcorn at the movie theater. It could have been worse. 
It was fun being the passenger for once in the car putting the camera above the windshield and playing with the settings. My wife puts the roof down at every opportunity, prompting me to wonder why people pay more to buy or rent convertibles and then they never seem to convert them. Myself, I am not much of a fan of convertibles preferring the cool shady quiet of an enclosed car with strong air conditioning and a dead German composer in the music box. Even the Lime Tree Food Store on Flagler Avenue managed to look alluring in the dark warm evening. 
But my wife wanted to get home and I did too so we didn't stop. As part of my job I get to ride along with officers from time to time and I've seen the inside of the Stock Island Hilton (hint: it's not a hotel, it's a jail) and I prefer sleeping in my own bed so drinking and driving is always out of the question.. 
Highway One, closing in on Sugarloaf School. Fifteen minutes from home at wife warp speed, ten minutes by Bonneville hyper drive. There to uncork the Black Strap Molasses Rum and reflect on the meaning of life and value of sleep.
Dinner however went all wrong. How is it possible I ask myself, that every single sodding restaurant is closed on a Monday? Is it a Bittburger conspiracy? Do the restaurateurs gather on a Monday night in someone's living room and have a giant bitch fest about the past week's most annoying customer? We stuffed a meter with coin on Virginia Street (oh Bonneville I miss you and free motorcycle parking) and walked to Sweet Tea, my wife's new favorite. It may be a new venture of the local arch capitalist Chris Belland, man of the people in the Key West Citizen, but it isn't open on Mondays apparently. Nor is my favorite Badboy Burrito on Simonton http://badboyburrito.com/ , nor is Banana Café (La Poivree, a burger with cream peppercorn sauce in a crepe) so we ended up wasting the quarters in the meter and moved the Sebring to park it for free at the courthouse and from there walked to a dinner of Stella Artois and popcorn at the movie theater. It could have been worse. 
It was fun being the passenger for once in the car putting the camera above the windshield and playing with the settings. My wife puts the roof down at every opportunity, prompting me to wonder why people pay more to buy or rent convertibles and then they never seem to convert them. Myself, I am not much of a fan of convertibles preferring the cool shady quiet of an enclosed car with strong air conditioning and a dead German composer in the music box. Even the Lime Tree Food Store on Flagler Avenue managed to look alluring in the dark warm evening. 
But my wife wanted to get home and I did too so we didn't stop. As part of my job I get to ride along with officers from time to time and I've seen the inside of the Stock Island Hilton (hint: it's not a hotel, it's a jail) and I prefer sleeping in my own bed so drinking and driving is always out of the question.. Highway One, closing in on Sugarloaf School. Fifteen minutes from home at wife warp speed, ten minutes by Bonneville hyper drive. There to uncork the Black Strap Molasses Rum and reflect on the meaning of life and value of sleep.
I was aiming from Guatemalan Zacapa on my buddy Keith's recommendation but my wife set a price limit and for $40 I got one of these ($20) and a 375 ml bottle of flavored Pyrat rum from Guyana. Two new ones to taste. Excellent.
Meanwhile Ive got an orange flavored Pyrat to try. It was offered at $12, a 30% discount which may be 30% of nothing if i don't much like it. I'm not a fan of flavored or spiced rums but I'm adventurous so we shall see. 
Check this adult only (!) website if you have a hankering to learn more about the home of US Caribbean rum.
Then I had to walk back to the launch ramp to pick up the car and trailer. I used to ride my bike and put that on the trailer to bring it home. These days I walk Cheyenne instead of cycling so the bicycle is buried in the shed with flat tires, a lot of work to pull out for one trip up the street.
Anyway, thought I, this would make an excellent opportunity to kill two birds with one stone as its a fine dog walk to the launch ramp. Sometimes Cheyenne and I do it after dark when I get back from an overtime shift in the cool of the night. A street with no lights at three in the morning is quite the star studded spectacle. Which is as may be but my dog was not having any of it at one in the afternoon.
Cheyenne stood under the house at the limit of the shade and looked at me standing in the bright hot sun. No way, no how she said, and went and sat on the cool dark cement. I took off by myself trudging up Indies Road by myself, my dog leash unused in my pocket, hoping against hope that she would suddenly trot out to join me. She never did and I retrieved the trailer (the wolf in the picture game) by myself. Just see if she gets to take a ride in the boat this summer.
He was more interested in giving Cheyenne a cookie. She wanted two. It's not just flame trees in bloom either. This is the corner of Grinnell and Southard Streets.
These bushes below aren't blooming but they provide some contrasting color to the salmon pink house. I believe they are called mamey but they are the same as the fruit bearing mamey. I expect I am wrong but I am sticking my next out on this one.
I am absurdly fond of my dog, and grateful to the fools who gave her to the pound for being "too old.". 
