In Key West, during a heat wave, I melted on Duval Street, but still drank five shots of espresso, Cuban style. I was there with my husband and our gay friend, Danny. We’d just been fired from our jobs running a musical theater in the penthouse of a hotel on A1A in Ft. Lauderdale. Our last production, Side by Side by Sondheim, was a hit, but the producer ran out of money. So we drove to Key West, and rented a bungalow with a private swimming pool. This is where we retreated during the afternoon to drink pina coladas, and get a blinding headache from the sun and the weed. We’d go out again at night. We eschewed Sloppy Joe’s, Hemingway’s haunt, and instead favored a rundown strip club, without air conditioning. The girls danced naked in flip flops and sunglasses. We drank whiskey.
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