As we turned a corner, I noticed an elderly man sitting in the driver's side of a Honda Civic. He was in a corner space, next to the building.
He was in the midst of taking a healthy swig.
I was like, "Oh, look, is that dude drinking an energy drink at this time of night. Gads, he'll never get to sleep!"
His head was tipped back, making sure he got every drop in the small container. I stared. It was booze! It was one of those mini-bar sizes of alcohol. Something clear, probably gin or vodka.
I looked in my rear-view mirror as I passed him. He opened the driver's side door, stepped out, and walked, stooped, into the Publix liquor store.
I didn't know what to do, really.
Does one call a deputy? Should one be horrified? Should one be sympathetic? Apathetic?
I didn't know.
It reminded me: I am in the South.
Some other things I have witnessed in the south that I certainly didn't see "up North."
- A man mowing his lawn on riding mower with a Budweiser and no shirt. A Confederate flag flew proudly from the front of his home.
- Two monster-size trucks parked in a driveway.
- A homeless, and presumably inebriated, man enthusiastically dancing in the shallow waves of the shores of the Atlantic Ocean.
- A furry, red ant about the size of my pinky. It wouldn't die, and I discovered later that it was called a "cow killer."
- Pirates roaming the streets. And a "pirate" war in the bay. (St. Augustine.)
- A neighbor taking off the head of a cottonmouth that had been slithering around our yard. She made sure to ask for bleach to clean up the blood on our front sidewalk.
And finally, my husband added another decal to his front windshield. I think we are assimilating well to the South.