“Everything looks junky.”
That’s what Keaton says about Florida.
“It’s all dirty and broken-down. It’s not like California.”
No, it’s not like California.
At least, not like the thirty square miles of California that our kids, in their limited exposure, assume is wholly representative of California. The manicured, whitebread suburbs and master-planned communities with convenient parks and shopping and schools, where all the stucco and paint are new and clean and the grass and ornamental plants are trimmed. The HOAs that keep the streets free of cars and houses free of well-water streaking. The stay-at-home moms with thousand dollar purses and fresh tans and nails.
Nope, it’s not like that where we are now.
In contrast, Florida seems alive – always straining against being tamed, steadily working to reclaim all human undertaking as jungle-swamp. You can fight it, but it’s a continuous fight. It rains a lot, and everything stays wet even when it hasn’t rained. It’s hot, the sun bakes the land. Plants grow while you watch. Hurricanes come every now and then to wipe away things men arrogantly continue to build, giving the swamp and jungle a fresh canvas to overtake. There are several creatures which feel directly descendant from dinosaurs that are just… walking around everywhere.
It’s OK though. Not just for me, it’s OK for us all. Part of me thinks maybe it’s even healthy… to get out of the bubble, to see that it’s not all pristine upper class new car disposable income.
Could do without the Trump flags, though.