In my current Bar Tab column, my father and I are confronted by a self-proclaimed “Florida cracker” named Steve. We were at Woody’s Waterfront on St. Pete Beach. Here’s a snippet:
I returned from the restroom to find Pops being chatted up by a red-faced fellow who looked and sounded like he’d been guzzling beer since he rolled out of the local shelter. He had on a pair of imitation Oakley sunglasses, a UF cap, a “Latitudes and Attitudes” T-shirt, khaki shorts and well-worn flip-flops. He smoked generic cigs. A weathered knapsack occupied the stool next to him.
This article appears in Sep 10-16, 2008.
