Day 14

The traffic around the school in the morning is reminiscent of a wildebeest migration. We are all locked in our cars when we could be taking the Weston monorail. If there was a Weston monorail. Or any rail. Instead we've opted for canals. When our limestone bedrock slides under the tannic waters of the Everglades, we can commute by gondola. I want it known that I am the first person to suggest this so that in the history books, while everyone is shaking their heads at the foolishness of Henry Flagler, they will be calling me a visionary. I was tempted to take the shortcut pictured below. I think it was achievable, and tempting.

Since we are discussing achievable and tempting, I'd like to give a shoutout to our school lunches and the peculiarly discriminating taste of the wildlife that lives in our school. We are home to foxes, cats and seagulls, and yet none of them have touched this:

I've been observing this cheeseburger for several days now, and I've noticed that nothing seems interested in it at all. Except for me. It remains on the stairs of the 900 building and has so for almost a week now. It is unchanged. In fact it actually looks more appetizing now than it did on Monday, four days ago when I first saw it. Someday when Cypress Bay crumbles and is paved over by time and seawater, there will be an inedible cheeseburger for future generations to discover and that will be how they will judge our era. Only the disposable is forever, and the beautiful things fade too quickly.