Finding solitude with my head under the cerulean salt water watching the pastel colored Parrot Fish peck at Brain Coral, as swollen bellied, beer swigging white men blare Van Hagaar, while their fake tan, enhanced breasts, suburban trophy wives swat at the sand on their french pedicures with their matching cover-ups, and their overindulgent 2.5 screaming children with fluorescent green noodles take over the once serene coconut palm white beaches of my old island.
Yep, if it's too loud. I'm too old. And dear old St. John ain't the same.
Longing for the salty dogs swilling warm rum, bathing their sun drenched dredlocks in Joy dishwashing liquid on the stern of their 4o foot Schooner's, barking sayings like "Mind the Rudder or Meet the Rock", before they fell asleep to the ocean lapping against their water line under a quiet starry sky.
When did life get so whitewashed?
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