A tropical paradise. A quaint little village. A Bohemian crossroads. A writer's convention. The oldest European settlement in the United States, therefore “the oldest city” in America.

Musicians in the woodwork. Orchestra, choral, organ, opera, festivals. Bluegrass jazz. Folkies who never left. Rockers old, new, famous, infamous. No more hippies playing guitars on the street.

Archaeology. The city has its own archaeologist. An ancient Spanish fort. Indian burial grounds. Colonial quarters. French vs. Spanish vs. English.

Yoga-Yogis-Yoginis. You have to wade chest deep in them to cross the street there are so many.

Sailors. Sailors who are poets. Sailors who are drunkards. Sailors without ships, but still sailors. Sailors who sail around the world and still end up here.

LGBT: Not South Beach, not Liberace. PPP-people public and private living ther their lives. Like moths attracted to a tropical light. “Not your average barrista.”

Negative vibes, man: small, inbred, lot of cronies, politcally, financially. Bubba trucks bad for bicycles.

Tourists. Bikers, Daytonna 500. Mostly naked young people on the beach. Redskins downtown. T-shirt shops. Cigar bar, martini bar, wine bar, brew pub, French bistro.

Key West. St. Augustine. Artists, writers, musicians, healers, free thinkers, sailors, chefs, and…not as much drinking as Key West.

Quirks? Estuaries, scientists, dolphins, astronomy, astrology, ghosts, psychics, bridge, sunsets, water, actors, chiropractic, river, newspaper, peppers, breakfast, pizza.

Old Florida. Old tourism. Fried shrimp. In the 1990s a bit like Northern Exposure tv show. A balmy breeze, palm trees, sandals, a crescent moon, azure sky, a Spanish minaret.

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