Town is soaked from waves of soused high schoolers come to celebrate their no doubt richly earned Spring Break.
Near nakedness is normal here at the end of the world, but unlike Fantasy Fest most of the flesh currently on view is as Nature intended, before the inevitable wreckage.
By night the kids fill the bars for bouts of competitive drinking. But by day, instead of requiring twelve hours of sleep in a darkened soundproofed room as a grownup might, they swarm the beaches and engage in more competitive drinking. I saw with my own eyes the Beer Pong game played. Just like on TV.
Like some unidentifiable predator I wallowed on the crest of the dunes and observed. The beach was confettied with lanky teenagers with full, shiny pelts. The girls sporting bandeaus of turquoise or peach, the boys mostly in knee length shorts. Except for a splash of Australians proudly wearing weenie bottoms with their flag across their flat rumps.
Speaking of crime, Key West is at the ready and from the dunes I had an unobstructed view of the boulevard where the police Command Center, a cushy looking RV, idled with a satellite pole and a front door and no doubt a chilled comfortable interior.
On the beach one policeman sat slumped atop a bony horse, its tail swishing at flies, while other gun toting foot soldiers strapped safely in bulletproof vests and knee high boots stood about chatting affably with the teenagers in tiny bikinis.
Girls lay out sunning as boys lobbed toys at each other to catch, like puppies. Just beyond the surf, flopped and floating on paddle boards were three tanned sculpted damsels. One on her back with her arms tight, hugging her flanks, a second also on her back but with her arms splayed out to the sides, her hands sunk under the clear water, and a third on her stomach with her face cradled in her hands. Quiet except for the swirl of gulls overhead.
And in a hillock of sand, whence lovers might canoodle and watch the full moon brightened sea, a hotel credit card door key innocently peeked.