SUNRISE AT THE BENCH
The sun rises and the wind blows over the bay in St. Petersburg Florida.
It’s so windy that it’s hard to walk, and the whoosh of the palm fronds drowns out everything. The pelicans strain against it and fly in place.
Al Nixon’s fedora rests perfectly still on his head.
Lounging on a bench near the sea wall — his bench — Al’s legs are stretched out straight. His arms are propped on the backrest. A 305‘s Ultra Light burns in his fingers.
“Hi Al!” say the passers-by, wearing athleisure.
“Have a good day!” says Al, wearing a sport coat and immaculate jeans with a single cuff over black loafers.
Al stands out among the yoga pants, dog-walking crowd if you’ve never seen him before, but for park regulars between 6 and 8 a.m., he’s as reliable as the squirrels or the water fountains, from the Yanni playing aloud on his phone speaker, to his travel mug of Maxwell House...read more
