I was walking Cheyenne on the bridge linking Cudjoe to Sugarloaf Keys, a place where my Labrador likes to go to find bait fish and other unconsidered trifles dropped by distracted anglers. A couple of nights ago I saw this old dude drowning worms all by himself on the bridge and I knew he was a snowbird because he was busy ignoring the only other human in sight. We trudged on by and found his Michigan tagged tank parked beyond the vehicle barricade thirty feet behind his now illegal vehicle, as snug up to the bridge as he could possibly drive on the ill defined FOOTpath.
Cheyenne and I kept walking, which I am now forced to admit is becoming a lost art, is the simple act of putting one foot (or paw) in front of the other. Even by motorists not displaying a handicapped tag.