Give me the right group of folks and I’ll talk politics, bathroom cabinet painting or subjunctive mood (look it up). It wasn’t until the COVID Years that talking about kitchen
Miss Andie opens the wooden door at the tiny Fleming Street bar, white lace curtains poking from a bag tossed over her shoulder. Key West sunshine floods the cool, inner dark. Thereâs a cheer from the bar when she walks in; everyone wants a hug in her warm, generous arms.
She takes her chair at the corner window table, bends over and goes about threading the curtains through the spring rod, which she pulls from her outsized purse.
Sheâs singing under her breath, low, clear-toned notes that should be soaring above the crowds as they once did. She calls herself one of those long-haired âhippie chicksâ of whom tales are told of the old days. Miss Andie doesnât sing aloud these days, though Iâve been told there are recordings.