Happy Friday. Your Survival Guy and Gal recently spent some time in Key West, our home away from home. On one hot sunny afternoon, we decided it was five o’clock somewhere and strolled down to Schooner Wharf for some barbequed shrimp, oysters, and beer. We could have stayed all night, but dinner was at six.
With not a lot of time to spare, we decided to take a shortcut and walk through the cemetery. If you’ve been, you know it’s high ground (if you can consider anything high ground in KW), and the sunsets are amazing. The full moon made it especially eerie. “Let’s pick up the pace,” Your Survival Guy thought to himself, passing a tombstone I imagined read, “I Told You I Was Sick.”
Approaching the exit, my fears came true. The gate was closed. Wrapped in chains, we were trapped like rats with nowhere to go. Your Survival Gal suggested we jump the fence. Self-preservation kicked in, and Your Survival Guy, dear friends, realized he might be left behind. “We can’t make it over,” I said. “I can,” she said.
Walking together, thankfully, back to the main entrance, it hit us. When we first arrived, we saw a guy scurrying around, it turned out, to lock the place up. (I wonder if he was laughing to himself). Thanks for the heads up. And sure enough, the main gate was locked up tight for the night. “Hold this,” Your Survival Gal said. And before I knew it, she was under the fence like a Nave SEAL—a move not possible by most down on Duval Street.
That’s when Your Survival Guy’s self-preservation kicked in again, and somehow I made it under, stood up, and read “Gates Close at Six.”
At least we had a good story to tell our new friends at the bar. Cheers.
Action Line: Do as a say, not as I…
