I was astonished to see this guy snoring on a bench outside the sales offices in the sacred grounds of the Truman Annex. He smelled pretty ripe, a mixture of ancient sweat, fermented urine and well worn cerements.
I strode by on a short cut between the parking garage and the Tropic Cinema, and imagine my surprise when, two hours later I walked back this way and took this picture of him still on the bench and still unconscious.
I confess, this image wrecks my stereotype of the sacred grounds of the gated Truman Annex community where I would never have imagined there would be tolerance of the bum. Mea culpa. Now they too have proper Key West color on their antiseptic grounds.