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Cruising The Main

For five centuries many have contributed to creating this perfect tiny city of Key West. Lush with green dripping trees dangling with flowers amongst the frolicsome cottages. Pirates and runaway slaves, wreckers and shrimpers, Cubans, Haitians, Spaniards, buccaneers, drinkers, gamblers and ship’s carpenters all brought their specialties and left their marks, such as balconies carved with seahorses. The Civil War Fort
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Rae of Light

For medical purposes I again closed my favorite bar the one and only Green Parrot at around 4 this Sunday morning. Here’s the thing, my doctor tells me dancing is the cure for all that ails me. News got out that something special had come to town, so Friday at 10 p.m I felt obligated to saunter on over and judge for myself. I was already doing a jig as I made my way to the bartender to get a bottle of water and
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Joie de Vivre

Joy Williams is a writer admired by great writers. Lanky as a teenager yet she was here in the heydays. The love of her life was Rust Hills, the famous New Yorker editor. Theirs was a great romance. They were a couple everybody wanted at their dinner table and cocktail parties. As much as everybody else loved them, they loved each other. Key West has long attracted writers, that is known. Some left but many stayed an
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Pups

At one Seminar the writers on stage discussed how they came upon their ideas to write about vampires. And how they mined from the depths of their popular cultural experiences. Childhoods of cartoons, comic books and soda pop tops. Certain writers meet a market called Young Adult, YA. Implicit is the suggestion that vampires and the like are for kids. Vampires are for real. Remember Eleonora, the vampire princess from
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Writers on Writing

Only in Key West, at the Annual Literary Seminar, will you find as many luminaries in the audience as those illuminating the stage. The theme of this year’s Seminar is the examination of the short story. The authors invited to speak were not exclusively short story writers. But all had engaged in the art form. Every year, one way or another I sneak in (tickets are hard to come by) as there’s always someon
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Love Bites

It was a full moon and it was his birthday and he had to go out. Later, on his way home he met a dusty cat. He stopped and the cat stepped gingerly over. They mewled to each other. He took one step toward his home and the cat cotillioned around his ankles at every footstep so that he had to stop and then sidestep the cat so as not to trip over it. Such is the feline-lupine seduction. We mortals work tirelessly for sc
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Homes

Honeysuckle looks like a model, gorgeous sexy willowy blonde, oh and brilliant and compassionate.  Joe worked for greedy money hungry gamblers. He ran around the track one thousand times at least. He cried in his sleep. A young black man, high cheekbones and kind eyes, slack jeans and a red and white bandana around his neck, gangster-style suggested in his low rider gait. Three lives with no reason to overlap, nearly
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To Serbia, With Love

In Serbia I frequently hear people say they would never live anywhere but here, “This is my home,” they say. I envy them their certainty. Yet I can’t fathom feeling connected in such a way, and now that noontimes look like dusk and after a year of wide-eyed awe, it might be time to go. In the mountains grandmother’s keep their homes with broom strokes, gathering dust and leaves and dirt and sw
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Thankful

Every few months I gather my change and take it to the nearest Serbian Orthodox Church. On a bench sat a beseeching drunk, his cracked hand outstretched. He smiled at me, soullessly, like a dying lame wolf. I almost handed him some coins except I didn’t and instead continued by the iron gates, and along a flagstone path to the round topped doors. I entered the church and paused and made the sign of the cross. B
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