Bachaco, an established band but new to town entertained last night at the Green Parrot. Sax, trombone, trumpet, couple guitars, the phatest bass player in the world, great drums, oh and those voices, and did I mention His Hotness in the turquoise tee shirt and those bopping hips. Wonderful funk poured from a score of musicians sharing the tiny stage, each jigging in place with instruments pushed to their outer limits.

One of their last tricks was a dance competition, three women and three men leapt to the stage. The men were evidently soused, and possibly didn’t know what they were doing, the women, however, got busy flirting unctuously with His Hotness.

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Imagine you nodded off in a library and next thing you knew books were skydiving off shelves, instantly metamorphosing into walking talking humans in party attire. Well this was exactly how it felt when recently I attended the joint birthdays of two literary scions at a charming house.

It was a wet dream come true to be among so many of the greatest living artists, all of them at ease and merrily celebrating. No doubt about it, I was awestruck. Allow me to namedrop shamelessly (listed alphabetically, because, really, how else?) while I attempt to recover my composure just thinking of the eminences.

Judy Blume Annie Dillard Alison Lurie Robert Stone Edmund White …

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Recently I made a trip up to the chilly north of West Palm Beach. It was dusk when I began the journey southbound and all around me motorists drove with Kamikaze urgency. Hundreds of steroidal vehicles zoomed all around and I was terrified to even change lanes, and when I did I noticed I was whispering prayers.

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Between the Literary Seminar, a sailing boat race and with the winter influx of snowbirds the tiny city of Key West is currently stuffed to its eyeballs. Even my reliable parking spot behind the courthouse has been discovered, and I’m forced to putter on searching for a free space, like a tourist.

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Key West has many unique features. There are few other places on earth where you can go down to the beach in the morning and reasonably expect to trip across treasure from Spanish galleon shipwrecks.

Equally you could, as I have, sashay into a local pawn shop and you’ll be offered slabs of emeralds, supposedly from the Atocha ship. “That’s worth sixty-thousand dollars,” the pawn shop owner said, fingering a green rock, “But you can have it for thirty grand.”

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Blame it on the moon but I couldn’t sleep. When daylight seeped around the blinds I took a sleeping pill and sunk blissfully asleep. The next thing I knew I woke up to an uncharacteristically grim day. It looked like London outside, the light was pale and thin and strangely gray. So not the tropics, I thought before I realized it was eight at night. Which is probably why, at half past midnight I was restless.

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I went to the Jail on Christmas Eve because I felt sorry for the ladies. Meanwhile Sally is right where she wants to be. Inmate #1234 at the Key West Detention Center. “See,” she confided to me that evening, “I’m a lesbian.” Sally is short, she is wiry and aging abruptly, meanwhile her blue eyes twinkle when she speaks, her head thrown back. “Three hots and a cot, and all the pussy I can eat. If you’ll pardon my French, this place is fucking Paradise!”

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My penultimate move before I left town, on my way to New York for Christmas parties, was to drop my bicycle at the bike shop for a tune-up, which would include getting the chain back on the gears. I have been harsh on my green bicycle, plunging off sidewalks and knocking the air out of the tires, all in the name of fun. I knew it was time to take the bugger in when, while riding, a powerful clanking could be heard over my headphones.

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My friend is waiting on me, he needs my help. I had to tell him I’m so sorry but I’m busy, I’ll catch up to him later and lend him a hand, or whatever.

The thing is today I’m dog-sitting, at friend Martha’s mansion by the sea where she is the caretaker for some multi-millionaires, and where it is ridiculously comfortable. I got there early with a bag of supplies consisting of Scottish smoked salmon, Belgian chocolates and a flask of dark rum.

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