Every March, my Father invites me down to the Gulf Coast, to spend a week basking in the Florida sun. We fill the days with Grapefruit League baseball (although it's usually the first week of the spring training season, so the baseball is good but not great), and the nights with food and drink that I will eventually pay for in spades. It more than offsets the embarrassing stories my Father will eventually tell. In my defense, he often exaggerates them to make me look especially silly, and to tell the truth, the truly embarrassing stories are deserved. I was an idiot in my youth, and have not much improved in the ensuing thirty-plus years.
I like the mornings on Siesta Key the best. The beach is white sand that never gets too hot, and in the cool of the Spring morning, the breeze has a scent, and the people are few.
However....
Back in October, this fellow washed up on the white sand beach of Siesta Key....
I don't think that it was ever truly decided where he came from or what he was trying to actually say...there have been many theories, but none more accepted than others. I do know one thing for certain, though...
Had I met him on my morning walk, he would never have made the newspaper. I would have packed his ass up and shipped him back to the Northern State.
He would make a lovely addition to my collection of oddities.
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