An envisioning . . . 1975 and an apartment in Miami Beach.

Oh to be here.

Same Florida but like stepping through a looking glass into the other side. Old person things to do, not young. Bingo instead of speakeasies and a bathing suit that shows more skin than anyone could back then. But not as much as anyone young and from a boring store, not the fun one where the granddaughters shop with the music blasting with what’s on the radio.

But life a joy wherever you find it. A husband still and that a treat. Shuffleboard by the pool and lunching with the ladies at a different spot every Friday in season.

Funny. More places for rich people before. Needing more money and coming down on the train for the winter. Well, no sense in coming for a week, not when it took days to arrive and not hours.

But the salads with more kinds of things in them now. The oranges just the same with the same grand smell when the trees go into bloom.

But the memories there. Books to look through and albums for the grandchildren to see, all needing to be done before they descend for Christmas.

Wanting to know the stories but maybe not this one.

The day the boyfriend of the girl down the street let her borrow his motorcycle and that wild ride on the beach. . .The thing tipping over as a big wave came in and the boots ruined but that one didn’t know. . .No, a wave and an adventure and another one after. . .young and riding into a future that will never end.

Motorcycle club members. Santa Monica, California. 1920.
Motorcycle club members. Santa Monica, California. 1920. via

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