I left Medellin, Colombia so I could see family and spend some time with my favorite person in the world—my cousin, Shane James Zingo. He said he was headed back to Key West to live so I said I’d join him.
Fast forward ——>>>>
I arrived by Greyhound to Key West international airport and head a few miles into town on foot until I spot the first establishment with wifi (haven’t had cell service in 10 months), which ended up being Shanna Key Irish Bar.
I walk in and there’s 4 people sitting at the bar + the bartender, Nancy, and they all acknowledge me immediately and conversation ensues as fast as I sit down.
They ask me where I’m from. I tell them—“The world.”
I ask the older guy sitting on the bar stool to the right of me what he does for work and play, which led us to a conversation about how bad ass prop planes are.
He told me a story about him dropping into Alaska and, since it was so cold, having to keep the engine running, otherwise it would freeze up within minutes and he wouldn’t be able to start the engine again, which would result in him being stuck in the middle of no where and more than likely dying.
Just another day at work for him.
I went outside for a smoke and end up talking to a marine and his girlfriend about what combat was like. He seemed to revel in it—he loved the action.
Then Nancy (the bartender) comes out to tell me my Irish Nachos were done, which is basically nachos minus the nachos with steak fries in place.
They were fucking delicious.
The bartender and I get to chatting about her married life and how she had one kid of her own and four step children from her husband.
When they met his first wife was dying of cancer. They all knew each other and were cordial. After 14 years of marriage, she decided to move to Key West and live the care-free island life.
She shared some ideas for me to do while in Key West and at that same time someone was grabbing a cab heading downtown to Duvall street, so Nancy suggested I catch the cab with them.
I told the woman heading there I didn’t have any cash on me—only credit card—and she said don’t worry about it. So this woman (I forget her name), this dude named Danny, and I, headed to Duvall street.
We walked into a bar together and the first dude we ran into bought us all beers.
Key West is so friendly.
His name was Randall. He’s a traveling chef who works for the coast guard and the vinyard, Kendall Jackson. We got to talking about some pretty deep government shit and he mentioned he worked at Bohemian Grove and served Henry Kissinger a martini. He said he watched Colin Powell drunkenly take a piss on a tree.
As we were talking, he had his eye on this Scottish chick who had mangly yellow teeth and, although super nice, was far from attractive. I was surprised being that he wasn’t an ugly dude and had his shit together for the most part.
Then Randall and I decided to split from the girl and Danny, who ended up going back home to fuck.
We headed to a titty bar on Duvall Street called Red Garder Saloon. We walked in, and mind you, this whole time I’ve had my massive backpacking pack on me, so that gets searched by the bouncer and he has me open it wide so he can rummage through all of it.
After he gave me the okay, I ask him if I can give it to him to put somewhere, but he had zero interest in helping me with that, so I just took it upon myself to stash it in some dark corner next to the bar where no one could really see it.
Then I assessed the female action and it was pretty poor. After living in Medellin, Colombia, most women I meet in America just don’t compare.
Colombian women have long thick black hair, voluptuous bodies, tanned skin, and they’re super friendly and love to fuck and please their man.
American women often don’t take care of their appearance, aren’t that friendly or easy to approach, and in my experience, usually aren’t that passionate in bed. Of course that’s a massive generalization and an unfair comparison to Colombian women, which are among the most gorgeous in the world.
Anywho, while Randall is running around pulling out money from the ATM for more lap dances, a Russian stripper approaches me sternly like she’s Joseph Stalin and somehow thinks that’s going to seduce me.
I’m bored and she’s pretty hot so I continue chatting with her and try to soften her up. She tells me she use to live in NYC and worked there too but hates the cold so she came to Key West. Ultimately she just comes to America to make money so she can bring it back to her family in Russia. A story I’ve heard more than once.
After that jazz, I looked around for Randall and he was nowhere to be found, so I chat chitted with the bartender for a little while longer and then split.
As I walked out, the original taxi driver who gave us a ride to Duvall Street, Jodie, yelled out from her pink taxi whip to get my attention and asked me if I wanted to go on some rides with her. I said sure and jumped in, massive backpack in my lap.
We were cruising around and stopped so I could throw my bag in the back of this SUV taxi. When I lifted the window gate, the corner of the window jammed into my eye and for some odd reason I instantly felt super nauseous. I told her that as she came back to help me get my 80 pound bag into the back.
Right after telling her I felt nauseous, I sensed something bad was about to happen, so I rushed back to the front passenger seat in dire need of safety, sat down, and immediately passed out, falling into full-on dream mode. Next thing I know, the taxi driver is out of her car on my side with the door open slapping me in the face to wake up, “Are you okay Kurshot?!?! Are you okay?!?!”
I had totally blacked out from poking my eye. It was super weird.
After I came to and that debacle ended, she said she had to pick up four people (not enough seats in the taxi for me), so she told me to hang tight at the bar across the street and that she’d come back once she dropped these people off and pick me back up for more cruising around town. Being the trusting and care-free person I am, I left my bag with everything I own in this world in her car.
After about ten minutes of waiting alone in this bar, she pulled back up and I jumped back in. We drove around for a bit, and ended up picking up this guy who had lost his girlfriend, had both of their phones on him (which were both dead), and was limping around from what he believed to be a broken toe.
On our way to his hotel we stopped at an ATM so he could pull out fare money, then we headed to his hotel. As soon as we pulled into the hotel loop drive way thing, the taxi driver’s dispatch said through the radio that he just dropped off a woman to the same hotel who couldn’t find her boyfriend. That gave us a chuckle.
Jodi needed to make rent for the month so her goal for that day was 120 bucks. She was only at 93 bucks. She had 30 bucks to go till she could hop out of her pink taxi and hop into bed. So she went to a bar that was closing soon and staked it out waiting for the guests to come out suspecting they’d need a ride home.
This wasn’t her first rodeo.
I had told her that I was looking for a place to stay, so while I ran into the bar to take a piss, she got to talking to a plastered guest sitting outside alone drinking a pitcher by himself. When I walked out of the bar, she said, “Looks like Tom here is gonna give you a place to stay.”
I sat down and he poured me a cold one from his pitcher of beer, and shortly after Jodi took off on a call. I got her number of course. She was a cool lady.
As hammered as Tom was, him and I managed to make it back to his place where we chat chitted about his daughters and how one of them is brilliant and the other is an idiot. His words, not mine.
Shortly after arriving at his “sober living” apartment (As nice as he was, Tom was an alcoholic), I passed out and before I knew it, woke up to the sounds of an older gentlemen making breakfast.
Morning had arrived.
I had to use the bathroom first and take care of some biz-nass, but afterwards I went into the kitchen and startled him with a bold introduction.
His name was Doc. He was 67 and was cooking spaghetti for breakfast.
Regardless of his choice of breakfast food, I soon discovered he was well-read, especially in the area of history and government. We spoke about 9/11 and the gulf of Tompkins incident and the black panthers in the 60’s and Nixon and the Bush dynasty and the Kennedy dynasty and the state of affairs today. Then he said he had to split. But before he did, he told me I didn’t have to run off so quick; that he enjoyed our conversation and I could stay for a while if I wanted.
Taking him up on his offer, I past back out until being woken up again, but this time by a grey pony-tail haired dude who told me I had 15 minutes to get my shit and be out.
He was the resident manager who oversaw all the “recovering” alcoholics.
I didn’t make a fuss and gathered up my shit and took off on my next adventure.
Needless to say, my first night spent in Key West was one to remember.