It is an odd fact but I only work fourteen nights a month, because my dispatch center prefers twelve hour shifts, so,on the nights I do work I start at six in the evening and I leave at six in the morning. The other odd fact could be that even though I have plenty of seniority I like working nights. The work itself is less stressful simply because there are few administrative calls to deal with and because the brass and the detectives are usually soundly tucked up for a refreshing night's sleep the no traffic at all inside the building.
"Hey Michael, could you do me a quick CCH?" the plain clothes officer used to pounce at all hours when I worked day shift looking for a "quick" complete criminal history, or a history of computer entries for a vehicle tag or some other interruption to the constant flow of radio talk and immediate needs of the officers working on the street. At night it's us three dispatchers in the top of the building and the officers out patrolling the city and that's all; and that's how I like it.
The other bit that I like about my job is that I tend to wake up around lunch time even on days I am working, so I get to enjoy every afternoon off before I start my ride to work at ten minutes after five. And now that I've graduated I have no school work to deal with or classes to attend. On the other hand my wife the teacher works an old fashioned schedule from Monday through Friday, statrting at 8am until whenever the paperwork is done. 
Red Mangrove: the dead yellow leaf has absorbed the salt out of the seawater the mangrove has sucked up. All of which gives me lots of time to think and to read and to wonder on my lonely afternoons. I have always worked in one form or another since I left home but I've only rarely worked to the exclusion of everything else in my life, I'm not a workaholic. Even more rarely have I been fired because I am a reliable worker. I usually choose to quit because something more interesting came up. A motorcycle trip, a sailing adventure, a curiosity needing to be fulfilled. But this dispatching gig is a daily lifestyle hard to beat in a world filled with the expectation that one should stress oneself to death.
Red Mangrove leaves spotted with silver mineral salts.
Red Mangrove leaves spotted with silver mineral salts.So on a weekday afternoon when I'm at home pottering about polishing the Bonneville or watering a vegetable I sometimes get the urge to take the boat and go for a swim. However with my wife, an avid swimmer still laboring in the salt mines, it is not such a great idea to say to her "I took the boat out today!" when she gets back with frazzled stories of life in the classroom. So I have evolved Plan B. Which, because I like simplicity, is a plan of extreme simplicity. I get on the bicycle and I pedal over to the Pool. 
The cigar-like nematode on a Red Mangrove that will drop off and may sprout a new bush.
The cigar-like nematode on a Red Mangrove that will drop off and may sprout a new bush.The Pool is a place to go in the hotter months of the year, though there are visitors year round who like to sit at the edge of the water and play loud music and drink beer, the reprobates. Me? I take a camera and wander around feeling the heat as I look for something to photograph. The water, the clouds and the mangroves are about all that's there. The mangroves show off their usually red roots dried to gray by a Winter and Spring of unusual aridity, though the yellow leaves aren't dying from lack of rain, because mangroves absorb saltwater and expel the salt though their leaves leaving little white crystals glistening in the sun, and all this activity produces the green shoots that will eventually fall off and if they are lucky float away to start a new life as a new mangrove someplace else. 
Where was I? Oh, yes, The Pool. Technically it is a county park, actually it's a hole dug in the ground extending out into the open waters beyond, as seen from the sky:
As seen from the ground:
It's deep enough that I can't see the bottom as I float in it, and the sides are cut straight so it actually looks like a swimming pool though rarely do I find anyone actually enjoying the waters, unless it's by kayak:
Their dog was indeed in the water following my every move as I lowered the bicycle to the ground and took off my shirt:
I swam for a while and listened to the rowdies beyond the bushes playing loud music and loud "fuck yous" for all to enjoy. Then a middle aged couple on the other bank who had been sitting enjoying nature in silence cranked up their stereo and fought back. Amazingly the drunks folded, perhaps made aware of their bad manners at last, and the middle aged couple packed up and left leaving me to continue swimming in silence. 
As I reassembled myself on shore I realised the dog was with him, sitting in his car and the kayakers belonged to some other dog in some other place. 
I pedalled home only more or less following Google's suggested blue line.
Where was I? Oh, yes, The Pool. Technically it is a county park, actually it's a hole dug in the ground extending out into the open waters beyond, as seen from the sky:As seen from the ground:It's deep enough that I can't see the bottom as I float in it, and the sides are cut straight so it actually looks like a swimming pool though rarely do I find anyone actually enjoying the waters, unless it's by kayak:Their dog was indeed in the water following my every move as I lowered the bicycle to the ground and took off my shirt:I swam for a while and listened to the rowdies beyond the bushes playing loud music and loud "fuck yous" for all to enjoy. Then a middle aged couple on the other bank who had been sitting enjoying nature in silence cranked up their stereo and fought back. Amazingly the drunks folded, perhaps made aware of their bad manners at last, and the middle aged couple packed up and left leaving me to continue swimming in silence. As I reassembled myself on shore I realised the dog was with him, sitting in his car and the kayakers belonged to some other dog in some other place. I pedalled home only more or less following Google's suggested blue line.
Boca Chica Bay is a body of water bounded by Highway One to the north (with enough clearance to allow fishing skiffs to pass underneath) Stock Island to the west, and Boca Chica Naval Air Station to the east. To the south is a narrow channel which gives access to the open waters of the Straits of Florida. It is the perfect place to live on a boat and I am not alone in noticing this.
Over the years I have seen the number of boats anchoring in Boca Chica Bay increase by leaps and bounds. Living on a boat has always been a cheap way to hang out in Key West, and aside from the transient population of mostly winter visitors who stay for a few weeks or months at a time, there are any number of boats whose owners never move their water "craft." 
The waters off Key West aren't the best possible place to anchor from a boater's perspective because even though they are closest to the downtown action they are exposed in any winds that don't have an easterly component to them. Winter north winds rake the harbor and pre-frontal west winds do the same. Holding isn't the best, as it's mostly thin sand over rock and the waters are part of the main channel which carries plenty of traffic to the Gulf of Mexico. All that compares unfavorably to the closed waters of boot Key in Marathon discussed here previously. And Boca Chica isn't too bad at all if you are looking for protected waters. I took these pictures in a steady southeasterly at 20 knots gusting 25:
The channel into Boca Chica is well marked, and splits just south of the old Peninsular Marine, where the right hand channel leads to the trim and inexpensive marina maintained at the Navy Base for military and ex-military at astonishingly cheap slip rents:
I find it ironic that on the water, as on land, the chaos of civilian life finds itself living cheek-by-jowl with the trim and orderly life of a neighboring military base. The chaos of Boca Chica liveaboards is generally a product of the fact that this is housing of the last resort, rent free, amenity free and pretty much unregulated. The fishing boats passing between the Gulf and the Straits zip through here, passing underneath the Highway, and overhead the Navy jets in training, circle on their way to and from imaginary aircraft carrier landings at the Base:
The issue as always for people living on the water is how to get ashore and in that respect Boca Chica ("small mouth" in Spanish) is very accommodating. Cars on the highway zipping past the Key Haven Shell gas station might be forgiven for not noticing the Key Have Boat Ramp that gives access to any trailered boat wanting to launch:
And people who want to launch their boats from here get to do so for free:
For those living on boats this is the main access point to shore side life, though many people land further up the highway in the mangroves alongside the road:
And despite the abundance of garbage cans provided as a service by the county the shoreline in the mangroves is filled with debris, as is the seawall itself, most delightfully:
The mangroves make for safe dockage for the variety of dinghies that the liveaboards use to get to shore; the trees carry out their natural function of acting as living fenders for the shoreline: 
Ashore the causeway is lined at night with parked cars and scooters and bicycles when the boaters come home from their day labors, and make no mistake this is largely a population of working people. Some use bicycles which make for a six mile pedal for someone working on Duval Street:
Others use motorbikes:
No, wait a minute, that one's mine! The ramp parking area does have lots of room:
So there you have it, how to live for free in (or almost in) Key West. 
I can only say that from my many years of living on a boat, in marinas and at anchor, the best way is to be underway. Admiral Nelson is famously quoted as saying: Men and ships rot in port! Look no further than the waters adjacent to Key West to see the truth of that dictum, even today.
On the approach to the airport the new terminal is now the departure building, up the ramp which collapsed during construction. That piece of the shoddy contract killed a Guatemalan worker Carlos Humberto 
The new terminal is a massive expanse of cement with a splendid view of the control tower:
The upstairs parking lot, most convenient to the terminal is for employees whose vehicles sit in the roasting sun. I'd rather park in the shade downstairs while I was inside working. In the distance the East Martello Tower:
The employees at the airport I spoke to before the new terminal was built were looking forward to it as a relief from the 
And there is still room to sit outdoors to wait for transport:
The main parking area is underneath the terminal, more massive expanses of concrete:
Whence one takes the stairs, or rides the (currently) operational elevator to the sterile Anywhere USA departure area upstairs:
The $40 million dollar contract apparently didn't include signage or trash cans according to an article in the paper so the county had to pony up for those too, at the last minute as they only noticed when the place had been opened. One can only be delighted the former county administrator and his sidekicks on the commission are all history. The cost did include outdoor fans which rotate at public expense at all hours apparently:
The iconic Conch 
It's a nice clean terminal with solar filtering glass showing off that concrete acreage:
And travelers now get to walk through a tube impervious to weather to get to their planes, though they will still have to go outdoors to get on the plane itself:
I got on the Bonneville and took a spin, up one side, down the other, a tip of the hat to the late Carlos 
And at the 
And ninety miles beyond that as we know so well, lies Cuba, all of a thirty minute flight from here.