Tiger King tells me that the world’s shitty people aren’t just relegated to florida, that sweaty armpit, childhood of sprinklers and stolen goods.  to be both close to heaven and the equator says something about perspective, i think.  some archangel or trust fund kid graffitiing his manifesto onto a high rise.  the tenants paying above market rate for the privilege.  some asshole replaces crabgrass with astroturf and here we are, instagram boyfriends, filtering the hot sun with pixels.  the thing about Florida Man is that there’s a bit of him in all of us, meaning there’s a certain kind of person willing to fish for alligators with frozen chicken and treble hooks.  probably the same kind to get off with just a phone call when the state troopers show up.  petty crime, pink shoulders, a retrospect to write about for poetry mags.  the difference between suspension and expulsion.  correlation does not equal causation, they tell me.  after all, i’m a man of science now.  standing atop wet asphalt.  walking home from the yellow after sundown with sweet tea and skittles.       my parent’s curfew, comfortable bank account:   a hopscotch of second chances.