Last run for the year… 7.4 miles of concrete. Once you cross over the ICW into Palm Beach, heavy traffic subsides. See the beach! A detour for take-out at the La Salsa in the City Place gives pause. Try not to drip sweat on the salsa bar.
I felt self conscious to strip down to my shorts and running shoes. I was still some distance from any actual beach and could be there was some local ordinance about being shirtless on the outside of the SPA. The sidewalks of Palm Beach are lined with Bling and paved with Palms. Jogging across the ICW drawbridge from West Palm, I was struck that every other brick and mortar is a Private Bank, Brokerage House (private), Yacht Sales or Exclusive Realtor’s Office. A Jaguar Showroom that I passed had massive plate glass windows though which I counted seven (7) Aston Martin Coupes and Convertibles. The other sub-six figure luxo cars inside and on the lot were mere filler. I moved to a less traveled side street of multi-million dollar Villas, also lined with Palms and each of them well manicured (otherwise the dayhelp’s Kia might be pelted with palm fronds or falling coconuts). Very Rich. I’m the only one on foot. Everybody else is in a creme color Bently wearing topsiders, off-white slacks, polo shirt and panama. Better keep my shirt on.
