American Tropic by Thomas Sanchez

death, birth, and decay. As a poet once said, ‘Nothing lasts forever, not even eternal love.’ So—here is my advice: don’t fall in love with a woman, fall in love with a town. A town doesn’t expect you to tell it when you’re coming home. A town doesn’t ask you to stop drinking. Key West is the perfect town to fall in love with. Key West has more bars than churches, schools, grocery stores, and banks put together. You’re always welcome in a Key West bar.” One of the three cell phones on the table before Noah flashes its red light with an incoming call. He punches up the call. “Go, pilgrim—you’re on pirate radio.”
    A belligerent male voice spews from the big wood loudspeakers that the cell phone is wired to. “Pirate radio, my ass. You’re miles offshore, moaning about love instead of talking about what bought-off corporate-controlled commercial radio refuses to talk about.”
    “You’ve got a beef, bully boy, sling it at me. Show me the rage.”
    “I wanna bitch-slap all the bankster bandits and condo cowboys who are destroying the Florida Keys. The worst are those three Neptune Bay partners trying to bulldoze everything natural and put up a wall of condos that will forever block a man’s rightful view of his mother ocean.”
    “Two of the Neptune partners are now dead. Didn’t youhear the news about Bill Warren found hanging in the bat tower?”
    “I don’t listen to corporate-controlled news radio.”
    “Well, there’s still one partner left, Big Conch. He wants to build in the proposed great-white-heron preserve. It’s not a done deal yet. Neptune Bay is coming up for an approval vote.”
    “Any corrupt government official who votes approval for Neptune Bay should be hung.”
    “That’s it! Show me the rage!”
    “Hang ’em high! Let ’em swing by their necks!”
    “You know the mantra?”
    “Yeah, don’t fool with Mother Nature or—”
    “—Mother Nature will fool with you!”
    “Keep up the fight. Adios, Dog.”
    “Next caller, go.”
    A woman’s words slur across the airwaves. “Hey, turtle diddler, you’re cute when you croon about falling in love with a town. Your hot voice puts a love hex on me. I’m boiling in your turtle soup.”
    “Are you stoned?”
    “Am I phoned? Of course I’m phoned. I’ve been phoned all day. That’s why I phoned you, didn’t I? I want to pet your porpoise. I want to hug your dolphin. Can I show you my age?”
    “Rage.”
    “I’ll show you better. I’m pulling my panties down right now. See my raging pussy?”
    “Mom, I told you never to call me here.”
    “Mom? I’m not your fuck—”
    Noah cuts off the slurring voice. “Stay on point, pilgrims, no games or I’m cutting this broadcast short. I’mwaiting for your call. Good, here’s a brave soul. You’re live.”
    “Permian extinction. It’s sneakin’ up on us.”
    “Welcome back, Nam vet.”
    “You remember when Hurricane Wilma came through Key West years back?”
    “We all do—lots of damage, took forever to recover from it.”
    “Yeah, but the real damage wasn’t what we expected. Wilma didn’t hit us head-on with one-hundred-thirty-mile-an-hour winds, didn’t smash us with a crashin’ forty-foot-high tsunami wave. Wilma blew across the island, ripped off roofs, uprooted palm trees, then, poof, she was gone. That night, people sleepin’ in their beds dreamed that their dog was lickin’ their face and wouldn’t quit, or they dreamed they were pissin’ and couldn’t stop. People woke up with water risin’ all around them, water risin’ up out of the floors of their houses, floodin’ the streets, coverin’ the cars. It was Wilma’s sea surge from under the coral rock of the island inundatin’ everything. Like the Old Testament deluge, water just kept risin’ with nothin’ to stop it. There was panic, everyone was gonna be drowned. Key West was gonna be submerged forever, like Atlantis. Then the water stopped risin’. That was Wilma’s sneaky