Pushing south, Rudy ordered a mimosa at Lucy’s Retired Surfer’s Bar. At Caroline’s he sipped a Lazy Way IPA. Next came Willie T’s for a mojito. He told the young, busty bartender at Cowboy Bill’s to surprise him. She brought him a Budweiser with a pink umbrella in it which he drank in one tip of the glass. At Mangoes he took matters back into his own hands. He sat under a turquoise umbrella in the patio, ordered a French Mule and gave serious thought to the question of whether or not a French mule would bray with a French accent. In five hours he’d worked his way as far south as he could without a liver transplant.
Five young women crowded around the next table, busying themselves with an arts and crafts project. They opened a box of condoms and freed the latex contraceptives from their individual envelopes. While two of the women inflated and tied the rubbers, two more twisted them together to fashion a crown for the fifth woman. A bachelorette party. A night they’d partially remember for the rest of their lives.
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