I saw a classic Honda in front of the Green Parrot, a welcome change from the dreary sameness of v twin cruisers all the live long day. Even though I could have done without the sissy bar. 
Across the street is my favorite place to sit and watch the world go by, generally with a con leche from Jeanna's (pronounced Gina's) deli even though since it sold oh so long ago it is now known simply as the Courthouse Deli, owing to it's proximity to the seat of county government across Southard Street.
There's my bench looking north on Whitehead street to the courthouse itself and the Mile Marker Zero sign which marks the start of US Highway One in front of said courthouse. That and the Green Parrot attract tons of tourists for excellent people watching right here.
The fact is we seem to be enjoying a splendid winter of masses of people which is quite putting me off hanging around downtown, as is frequently the case for me. So in the interests of pissing off riepe let me show a picture of a visitor who is not nubile or even female.
Below are my favorite Keys colors, blue green and white.
And more of the same with some bougainvillea thrown in. 
Ooh, look, even more blue green and white!
And here is a perfectly good porch not being used as a place to sit and watch the world go by. Cheyenne would have been happy to do just that. 
The city commission is wrestling with the vexing issue of what to do about private tows from private lots. Unsuspecting visitors, illiterates apparently, see signs like these, ignore them and get towed at vast expense. You can end up paying several hundred dollars, plus taxi fare to Stock Island or Rockland Key to get your car back. So the complaints come rushing in and our elected leaders thrash themselves into a sweat wondering what to do about it.
More serene and summery Key West architecture in the middle of winter.
Whoever decided to build a vertical roof was not doing anyone any aesthetic favors.
Hmm, I wonder what Prana Spa might offer to harried and hard working teacher that I'm married to?
Whitehead Street looking north all the way.
Who noticed I was out walking without Cheyenne?
Across the street is my favorite place to sit and watch the world go by, generally with a con leche from Jeanna's (pronounced Gina's) deli even though since it sold oh so long ago it is now known simply as the Courthouse Deli, owing to it's proximity to the seat of county government across Southard Street.There's my bench looking north on Whitehead street to the courthouse itself and the Mile Marker Zero sign which marks the start of US Highway One in front of said courthouse. That and the Green Parrot attract tons of tourists for excellent people watching right here.The fact is we seem to be enjoying a splendid winter of masses of people which is quite putting me off hanging around downtown, as is frequently the case for me. So in the interests of pissing off riepe let me show a picture of a visitor who is not nubile or even female. Below are my favorite Keys colors, blue green and white.And more of the same with some bougainvillea thrown in. 
Ooh, look, even more blue green and white!
And here is a perfectly good porch not being used as a place to sit and watch the world go by. Cheyenne would have been happy to do just that. 
The city commission is wrestling with the vexing issue of what to do about private tows from private lots. Unsuspecting visitors, illiterates apparently, see signs like these, ignore them and get towed at vast expense. You can end up paying several hundred dollars, plus taxi fare to Stock Island or Rockland Key to get your car back. So the complaints come rushing in and our elected leaders thrash themselves into a sweat wondering what to do about it.
More serene and summery Key West architecture in the middle of winter.Whoever decided to build a vertical roof was not doing anyone any aesthetic favors.
Hmm, I wonder what Prana Spa might offer to harried and hard working teacher that I'm married to?Whitehead Street looking north all the way.
Who noticed I was out walking without Cheyenne?
I grumbled about the fence and got a comment saying people were ripping "souvenirs" from the place. The older I get the less able my fellow humans seem to be at acting polite in public. If I had to live in the city I'd like to have the cemetery for my neighbor. Not only is it pretty to look at but the inmates don't disturb.
Lots of people are afraid of cemeteries and dead people, an attitude I find rather odd. When I worked in town during the daytime I would frequently come into the cemetery, check the headstones which are packed with history and eat a picnic lunch among the dead. It is, I grant you, sentimental but were I dead and buried here I'd enjoy, if I had any sense of being, getting a break in the monotony with a visit from the living. As it is Angela Street runs along side wo with a dog, banned from the cemetery itself, I was limited to looking through the fence. I also noticed this old roadsign, the sign itself removed from the post. That was owing to a recent deicsion to reverse the one way traffic on this section of Angela Street.
I still have trouble remembering the correct order of one way streets in Bahama Village which were all changed a couple of years ago. Imagine how much of a struggle it is for me to remember this unexplained change as well. Traffic now travels inbound, westbound from Frances Street.
Half way down this block of Angela lies the little side street called Catholic Lane, because of it's proximity to the Catholic section of the cemetery across the fence (in death Key Westers apparently prefer to be sgregated by religion, as though God cares). Catholic Lane merits its own essay, of course and wouldn't you know it, that one is already in the bag: 
And just to brighten up the scenery I came across a Vespa similar to my wife's ET4.
Summer tourists flock to Veteran's Park on the south side of Highway One at the southern end of the Seven Mile Bridge because the waters are shallow and the wading or swimming is easy. This time of year in the wake of a cold front the waters are rather cool for swimming at dawn and Cheyenne and I had the place to ourselves. Three cars came and went in the hour we were there but none of the occupants got out, preferring to sit and admire the view through their windshields.
The tide was out and with a full moon coming up there was a fair bit of normally submerged beach exposed.
As the sun made it's way up the colors changed and I stood there entranced. 
Above, the spoil islands created by Flagler's dredging to build the Seven Mile Bridge. Below the view west past Veteran's Park.
I've always wanted to be twenty feet tall. It was not until I came to the US that I discovered that being 5'6" (168cms) is considered short. It's a useful height to be if one wants to live on a boat.
So, why do they call these red mangroves? Are the roots red enough?
It was a delightful morning.
I hoped he was enjoying the morning as much as I was. This weekend is my long weekend at work, Saturday night through Tuesday morning, so when the sun is at this angle this weekend, I'm asleep.
I saw this Honda Hurricane moldering on Southard Street where formerly it was parked on White Street. Now it is sitting collecting dust and unable to move. Too bad as I read up on the Hurricane and it turns out it was considered quite the sport bike twenty years ago.
This plant I know is a traditional Christmas flower, even though I'd know a thing about botany, and here it was sitting out enjoying some February sun.
Then she started nagging on about her religion which is something called Unity, her interpretation being some spiritualistic nonsense about life being nothing but a dream. Which may or may not be the case, though for a lot of people not born into the comfort of the first world with a tight knit family like my tormentor, life frequently takes on the appearance of an endless nightmare. As it was starting to for me, happy camper that I am, as the relentless proselytizing continued. I stuck to my vague and confused approach to the whole thing, being agreeable and reaching for the wine bottle as often as necessary. My wife happily lost her bet (which she never admitted to me so I know it hurt!) and I slipped away to snooze off the effects of the excess calming wine I had felt obliged to suck down to keep my mouth full and thus unable to unleash my feelings about being at a birthday party and getting ambushed by a missionary. This being nice to people is extremely hard work and I am forced to wonder if it's worth it.
I find being alone with my dog very relaxing. The world makes sense when seen through Cheyenne's eyes. She never tries to convert me to her beliefs, so much so I have no idea to this day, whether or not she even believes there is a dog.
I was snoozing peacefully on the floor of a dark living room when my meditations were interrupted by a low voiced conversation taking place around the table. It ended up as a war story about the 'Nam, shootings, retribution and a lingering sense of guilt. Guilt is without any doubt in my mind, one of the most corrosive emotions in the human repertoire and when confronted by it in another human all you can do is listen. Telling someone not to feel guilty is a total waste of everyone's time. I again said nothing hoping all this excess of emotion would evaporate back into the ether.
I was batting a rather low average so far for a birthday party, but before the evening was over I learned that some friends who I had heard were thinking about leaving the Keys were denying the rumor strenuously, so that was good news. By the time we left to go home I felt rather bruised by the evening's conversations.
An afternoon roaming Key West with my dog was what the doctor ordered. On my way out of town I watched a person from Up North leaving ashy souvenirs of her passing from the window of her Chevrolet Aveo. I guess the ash was too gross for the interior of her car, much better to dump it on Key West, a city with notoriously broad shoulders.
Parents are strange people, ask any teacher to confirm that generalization. My wife got yelled at by two parents this month, parents siding with their offspring who were chafing against the reins of discipline imposed by my wife, who has a strict no cell phone policy at her school. I wonder what happened to the adult bond between parents and teachers that existed when I was a brat. This putative parent tells the youngster to wear a helmet (as required by Florida law) but fails to lead by example.
I was thinking how chaotic traffic gets in winter and then I saw this cyclist cross the boulevard with perfect timing flowing with the cars. She made it look easy.
As my young Conch (remember the "h" is silent when pronouncing the word Conch) colleague likes to say: "There's nothing to do in Key West." He's right of course and this essay just proves it.