Tourists… They come here lifting their sun-screened noses high in the air, soaking sun rays into their cold decaying bodies. Midwestern baby boomers, teetering on the edge of death, with no concern for the future, arrive in flocks. They go to Disney a few times and fall in love. Then they move here.
They start selfishly voting for immediately gratifying policies that fuck future generations, because they’re gonna die soon and don’t care. Their kids and grand-kids are up north getting a real education, so there’s hardly a chance they’ll be affected. Everything they vote for is cheap and easy, with no foresight. In the same fashion that they happily fumble around on their iPhones with no understanding of the circuitry, they exploit the outer surface of Florida’s beauty while belligerently ignoring the fundamental aspects.
Funding for schools gets thrown out. Early childhood program’s budgets are slashed. There’s nowhere to go as a kid… nothing to do. So these kids turn into Florida Mans and Florida Womans. These victims of selfish greed become pathological Florida people. This is our reality.
Then a hurricane comes…
The great mediator. The judge who slices a line between the Natives who are eager to hunker down, and the Tourists who gas up their giant SUVs and head north.
And for a brief moment in time, as the chaos of the approaching storm wraps up Florida’s true children in a blanket of excitement, things are good. Things are real good…
