Escaping Reality

Chapter 24: Art Fair Friends

After sifting through a couple of emails I put my phone down and decided to go for a short bike ride to pass the time. I went to the garage and hopped on what I'm assuming is Dan's bike. It was nice and outfitted with some of the latest bicycle modifications, he apparently spent a lot of time riding. I skipped the helmet, sorry mom, and cruised around the neighborhood a little bit. I ventured to a little shop area that had its own miniature sculpture walk.

My favorite sculpture was composed completely of nails and resembled a horse on its hind legs. I don't know why I found it so interesting. Its little plaque said it was supposed to represent rebellion and strength and I guess I could relate to that in a way. That's sort of what this trip was about, exercising rebellion and individuality for the first time in my life.

The street was also lined with tents and booths selling homemade goods and crafts. There was handcrafted pottery, glasswork, landscape paintings, jewelry, beadwork, and much more. I stopped at a few stands to chat up the vendors.

At one particular stand, there was a man who was probably in his late twenties who was selling abstract art. After talking for a little I learned that he had gone to college and gotten a degree in art but could never find solid consistent work. He now worked in marketing for a local law firm and spent his weekends selling his art, hoping to make it big someday. His art was phenomenal, abstract paintings of everyday scenery: office meetings, families sitting in traffic, dogs on afternoon walks - all with his unique abstract twist. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford any of his works but made sure to snag his Instagram handle in case I came across a little extra cash in the future.

I went down the line finding that many of the vendors had regular day jobs that paid their bills but their true passion lay in creating and these weekend fairs served as retreats from their boring daily life. It was sort of sad actually, to hear them talk so passionately about creating only to admit that they only did it after coming home from their corporate desk jobs they hated but needed to pay the bills.

I asked around some more and discovered that there was a popular taco shop not too far away. I decided to see what all the talk was about and took the short bike ride over. The line stretched out the door but I had time to burn so I decided to wait it out. Everyone that walked out of the small store had a smile on their face so I assumed the food was either incredibly good or laced with drugs. This was Florida after all, I had heard stories.

The restaurant itself was injected with character. The property couldn't have been larger than a couple of hundred square feet and was painted bright green and yellow. Its menu was fairly small but loaded with customizable options. A banner informed me that the restaurant had been family owned and operated for over 50 years. I made it up to the line and placed my order with some kid who couldn't have been much older than eleven years old.

"Uh, can I please get a smothered chimichanga with shredded beef and no sour cream. Can I also get rice and beans and a glass of tap water."

"Si, en total ocho dólares y veintisiete centavos" he said in Spanish.

Even though I had taken Spanish all through high school I was taken aback and had to look at the cash register balance for assistance. I handed him a ten-dollar bill and he returned the proper change with an innocent smile on his face. He handed me a number and pointed to a crowd of people who were also waiting for their food.

After a few seconds of waiting, I got my food and went and sat at the community next to an elderly couple. I snagged a bottle of hot sauce and gave my chimichanga a dousing before digging in. It was easily some of the best Mexican food to touch my tastebuds. The ambiance added to the overall experience too. Hearing ocean waves crash in between bites seemed to add a couple of flavor points to the already delicious meal. The three-way meat to cheese to bean ratio was perfect and the ingredients tasted fresh like they had come from a local farm earlier that morning. Maybe they had, I thought. A short time later my plate was clean and my belly full.

I returned my plate and said goodbye to the elderly couple who I had shared my meal alongside and skipped out the door. Never had I felt so good after eating such an unhealthy meal. I unlocked my bike and pedaled back to the house excited for what the rest of the day had in store. I pedaled as hard as I could back to the house trying to work up a little sweat and burn some of the calories I had just consumed.

I put the bike back in its place and went to the basement to grab my trunks and car keys. I had packed a speedo for shits and giggles and debated bringing it but decided that I would play it cool for now. My phone dinged, a text message from the boys letting me know that they were on their way. Perfect I thought we would get there about the same time.

I threw my stuff in the Porsche and peeled out of the driveway. I was feeling festive and turned on some Kid Rock, All Summer Long, and threw on my shades. I couldn't help but feel aggressively American. Driving down the interstate going 100mph, shades on, bumping Kid Rock was certainly not a scenario I had ever imagined being in.