Having fought off a stress induced lo-level cold from last week, I’m getting back into the swing of it with my regular afternoon off visits to the beach. I’m starting to recognize some of the locals. Being a Sunday the place was ideal for people watching, lots of boating and PWC, bicyclists but very few jogging on the greenway path. Latin country western from car stereos. Spanish chatter. I wished that I spoke the lingo. English is a second language here. In the Publix asking an esoteric question like: “In what isle might I find the flat bread?” creates a scurry of confusion as an interpreter is sought. The cashier, even after determining that I am Euro-American refuses to use my language. I am a foreigner. Chainsaw noise from a renegade pocket mini motorcyclist or powered skate board. A light onshore breeze carries the aroma of sun tan lotion, charcoal brickets, and sometimes odor of baking fish. I guess my stuffed nose is working normally now, cured by tropical sun.