At the Hemingway House, Key West, FL

An intelligent man is sometimes forced
to be drunk to be spend time with his fools.
Ernest Hemingway

You’ll want to slip past the long line of tourists. Simply flash your invisible “writer” badge and the old man at the gate, susceptible to this Jedi mind-trick, will let you through. Nod at the hostess on the front porch steps as if you know one another well and follow the group into the foyer. Take a quick walk through the upstairs rooms then come down and peek into the dining room. Or just skip the house tour altogether. There’s nothing in there beyond standard house & garden wares. And how could there be? Ignore the plethora of six-toed cats lounging in garden shade as you head to the back corner of the compound, where you will find Hemingway’s writing studio floating like a moon above an aquamarine pool. There’s nothing of value up in the great man’s writing room, either, not even the typewriter, but there is something about peering in that cage that serves as gentle reminder of what’s really at stake. End up poolside, instead. Go ahead, take off your shoes and stick your tired legs into the cold water. (Security will come soon enough to shoo you off.) Here is where it all sinks in. Where the scene blossoms in front of your eyes. The drunk writer lurching into a lounge chair. The bored beauty painting her toes  in the shade. The sweating agent with papers to sign. The murderous butler under the banyan leaves muttering terse notes to self while one of the children lays supine in the sun, encased by a slowly expanding cocoon of wet concrete.