A Jacksonville Story...
As I finished my tour I looked at Jacksonville through new eyes. Here was Paradise Lost, before me stood a primeval forest of large trees, birds chattered above and along the waterfront, but don't tell them by tomorrow, they'll be dead. Yesterdays Goodyears, an old shopping cart, a sofa, another sofa, and a sofa still in use, finally enough condoms to brew a "gottem by the gizmo stew." This is a tragic side of our city.
Oh crap, there's a body up on the bank, just what I want to see on my morning paddle. No it's alive, it's a... a... woman. She has her own bedroom under the stars. A shaky hand extends begging for money, she smiles through broken teeth. She couldn't be a day over 29, but looks all of 50. Suddenly as if by magic, I notice the smell of the water, the mud, the city. It smells like death. Her eye's haven't yet lost the child like sparkle, and her brain is in a haze, she so want's a real friend but she can't trust anyone. But we buy a coffee. I wonder how many miles a vessel must log before becoming the corner Jiffy Lube? Don't worry, some kitchen is making a turkey dinner for her... TOMORROW. About 8 blocks away in a plush office, Peyton and company sit powerless to stop the abuse, powerless to help.
My heart melts, she isn't pretty, she doesn't smell good, she looks in some advanced stage of sickness, yet they keep coming. Why? Why must we use our creek for a public toilet/mental health clinic? Oh look to the port side, 5 more sludge muffins. This is sick, it's a cancer, but it's NOT her fault. Somewhere back down the creek a car pulled up and the door slammed. When it pulled away she was all alone again. Don't sweat the small stuff - she was only 14 the first time, who cares, shes disposable.
The creek too is a waste, cap it over, or put it in a tomb, if we don't act soon the whole city will carry it's unique aire. Do something on Duval Street, something, anything, act damn it! Not to worry, in another 22 minutes the whole scene will disolve into a drug induced fleck of a bad dream. The mind journeys away, back to Yosemite, the Grand Canyon, Okeefenokee or the falls in the Andes. Meadows of flowers, visions of youg girls dancing in fairy rings, toke it... toke it man. Look out the windows, there's cops are in the trees, but nobody knows it, but my business and me. I don't care if it's the narc's or the Fed's, cause I'm tell you man, this city is dead.
My trip or hers? You guess the answer!
God Damn these people! IF THERE'S A HELL BELOW, WE'RE ALL GONNA GO!
We're so screwed!
OCKLAWAHA
facebook and 
twitter.
