A quick ride down Truman Avenue to the Dion's chicken and gas station. It wasn't a night for delicious Dion's Fried Chicken but the Vespa ET4 needed premium fuel, about six buck's worth. While I was pumping fuel into the 150cc rocket ship I looked around and marveled at the ways people get around in Key West. The barefoot cyclist riding a home modified tricycle with a plastic box on the back stuffed a plastic grocery bag with supplies into his box and pedaled off, red and white lights keeping him legal and safer. Often you will see groups of scruffy tanned men squatting on the step outside the gas station talking among themselves. To me it is reminiscent of the Third World, those countries trying to develop enough to be like us, where we lock ourselves indoors and conversation is spread by electrons. These men don't bother me or anyone else, they talk and enjoy the warm night air. There was no one at Dion's so I moved off down Truman, my destination unknown.
I saw the pottery shining through the window at the Key West Pottery shop. I stopped and approached with camera in hand, something like a moth drawn to light. Lovely stuff.
Next door I found an old fashioned barber's shop. I must have walked and ridden past a thousand times and never noticed it. I did this time.
I found this picture on the Web at Foursquare and have to confess I am intrigued. Sometimes I wish I had to cut my hair more often, but I have an old fashioned place on Big Pine I have come to like just fine.
If you wonder at the number of hair dressing joints in the Keys, then you might also wonder at the number of bicycle shops here as well. And local businesses do like to decorate their dumpsters, happily:
I like taking pictures of piles of bicycles. It must be Aspergers and geometric almost random patterns or something. Doing it at night in the half light at Island Bikes was even better.
I went down to Duval Street to take pictures but it wasn't the night. The place was crowded and as I rode north on the famous street all I could see were crowds of drunks, on the sidewalks, on bicycles peeling off into traffic and the hubbub of the crowds, the sight of a man in underwear lounging outside the Bourbon was enough to remind me that I don't live in a Fellini film and I needed peace and quiet for my lunch break. Some other night perhaps for Duval, as I had my pictures of the quiet corner of Key West I had not expected to stumble across.