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Before you all read this short story, I suggest you read the prelude here

The original was written by the Old Man Custer and you can check it here.

It gave me some nostalgia about a time I wasn't even around, and I wanted to expand on the story, giving it my look and how I thought the events of that night at Captain Tony's unfolded. Enjoy, and thank you Custer for allowing me to write about it. You're a great man and one can learn much from you.

o7

Wasted Away in Key West


The winter of '84-'85 was something else. There was an unusual chill in the air as I travelled to Key West, seeking both refuge from the north's biting cold and a fresh start. I think it was around mid-January, im not quite sure, but I remember people were preparing and you could sense the atmosphere brewing up for the Dolphins in the Super Bowl. But I was not that into football, I mean, I was not the kind to get excited over 22 people chasing a ball for 60 minutes. No, I was in Florida for something more than that and Key West, with its pristine beaches and intoxicating blend of cultures, seemed like the perfect haven for a wandering soul like mine.

I spent a while in that town. Every day, I'd mount my trusty bicycle and pedal through the sun-drenched streets. The old cemeteries, with their stories whispered among the moss-draped trees, were my daily stops and the gravestones told tales of sailors, lovers, artists, and renegades – the very soul of Key West.

I would often find myself outside Hemingway’s house, absorbing the essence of the legend. The walls, though silent, echoed tales of bullfights, distant lands, and the endless struggle between man and beast. Nearby, the 1920s architecture stood proud, a testament to an era gone by, their geometric patterns and soft pastels drawing me in time and again.

Come evenings, I would head to the Sunset Pier. Armed with my net, I'd catch shrimp as the horizon swallowed the sun, casting everything in a golden hue. Those fresh catches would then be thrown onto a makeshift grill – "shrimp on the barbie," as we'd jest. Artists with their vibrant canvases and shopkeepers closing up for the day would gather around. We'd share stories, laugh, and toast to another day in paradise.

During the early 1980s, Key West looked like an end-of-the-world seaport outpost, something like a Wild West town, but with palm trees and blue water. But this was changing, as you could see many bars opening and Guns’N’Roses blasting along with a pinch of Bon Jovi to add to the rock style which I loved. Every evening as the sun went down, the sense of excitement and expectation was strong enough to be nearly visible. You just knew something outrageous was about to happen around the next corner, and you simply had to be there to watch it unfold. I stayed at this South Wind Motel, which I gotta be honest looked like pretty decent, considering the fact is was half as cheap as what I used to pay back at home. I mean the rooms were clean, the staff was very helpful and it generally made me feel at home. So, I decided to stick around.

Soon enough, I became a regular at Captain Tony’s. Nestled among the various spots on the island, this joint became my haven. The bar was an alchemical mix of salty locals, travelers, and artists. Here, everyone had a story, and soon enough, I became a part of its tapestry.

It was Saturday evening I believe, and having nothing smarter to do after coming home from the beach, I decided to explore some more and go and actually check out Captain Tony’s original location and see what’s up. I was a drinker back then, I didn’t drink a lot like some of the drunkards in my hometown, but from time to time I knew to have one too many, if you know what I’m saying. An hour into my walk on the pavements of this small little Floridian town, I finally found it, its neon sign flickering inconsistently but promising a warm embrace inside. The walls were adorned with nautical memorabilia, vintage photographs, and hand-written notes from patrons past. The barstools were worn, but that just added to their charm.

Settling into a stool, I ordered a drink. Or ten. I just wanted to get some booze after that tiring day at the beach. The blur between one drink and another was as seamless as the merging of the sea and the sky on the horizon. To my left I saw a man. He was dressed in a casual shirt and a worn baseball cap, nursing his own drink. We exchanged silent nods — the universal language of fellow drinkers, as you may know. I had met a lot of people that way, some of which I still talk to.

However, it wasn’t until I heard someone whispering behind me that I realized who he was.

“That’s Jimmy Buffett,” the voice murmured.

The whispers grew, and more eyes settled on him. I didn’t react, because to me, at that moment, he was just another guy at the bar. A fellow drinker, a compatriot against the world. And believe me, you can never have enough of those. Even back then, when the world was a much simpler place.

The ice in our glasses clinked in synchrony as we shared stories, laughing about the wild tourists and lamenting the erosion of Key West's old charm.
“Famous, shmamus,” I declared. “Who's buying the next round”

He chuckled, raising his glass in appreciation. It made me chuckle as well, I knew I had found another soul close to mine.

Buffet was a normal fellow, and we talked about the plan to rebuild Sunset pier to accommodate cruise ships and just how that would over-commercialize everything and bury the history and charm of the place.. Which 40 years later is, as faith would have it, exactly what happened. We agreed that personal happiness is much more important than success, and we shared thoughts on what that means exactly. How fame and fortune destroys people from the inside and in a way we envisioned the grim future that was coming.

Minutes translated into hours, and before you know it, it was 1am. I remember going out at 6, just as the sun was going down on that beautiful orange horizon. The bar had been peaceful, but over the last 10-15 minutes I could sense something happening. The atmosphere, previously friendly, slowly started shifting and loud voices, combined with the sound of breaking glass, echoed from the other end of the bar. A scuffle had broken out, and like a storm, it surged, swallowing bar customers in its wake. I wasn’t bothered, after all, a seasoned drinker like me had seen everything and I was certain nothing new was about to happen here. But, I was wrong.

Suddenly, him and I were in the eye of the hurricane and it’s gonna sound funny, but I remember looking into Jimmy's eyes, seeing the same spark of mischief I felt. We stood back to back, ready to defend our territory against the oncoming invaders.

‘Jimmy, my man, this might end badly or not, but we’re here and now for a reason.’ – I uttered quietly, and Jimmy nodded with a smile on his face.
The chaos was a blur of shouts, swinging arms, and spilled drinks. And then, blackness.

The cold ground greeted me as consciousness crept back and the taste of salt and stale beer lingered in my mouth. Slowly sitting up, the morning sun from the same beautiful Key West horizon piercing my eyes, I found myself in the gutter outside Captain Tony’s. The aftermath of the previous night's tempest lay scattered around — broken chairs, discarded bottles, and a few fellow souls in a similar state as me.

Beside me, a groaning figure shifted. It was Jimmy, his baseball cap askew. We shared a wry smile. We didn’t need words. We'd shared a battle, a drink and now, a sunrise. Which is much more than what most of you can brag about. I remember helping him get up, calling him a cab, and sending him off into downtown Key West, and I had never seen him again except on some news channels and on radio stations.

From that day onward, every time I heard “Margaritaville,” I didn’t just think of the song's lyrics or its catchy tune. I also remember that wild winter day in Key West — a day of unexpected friendships, defending honor over spilled drinks, and waking up with the weight of memories and the lightness of a story to tell. Rest in peace, Jimmy. Although I knew you for only a few hours, I swear it felt like a lifetime. We will meet some day, up there. I believe you are waiting for it just as much as I am.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ue2-ZVxpVjc&pp=ygUPbWFyZ2hhcml0YXZpbGxl