Vacation Fiction Day 3 - I Don't Care -- Darius Rucker and Brad Paisley

It's Saturday, 4PM on the beach, Spring Break week 3. I'm sitting on a chair near the water line, keeping warm and trying to soak up the last rays of sun before I have to leave and go home. The circus is in full force, and I'm not sure I want to come back.

Then I look to my left, and just stop.

I've seen a lot of strange sights involving alcohol. I've watched an old man wash a bucket of KFC down with Jack straight out of the bottle. I've seen thousand dollar wine and Mad Dog 20/20, and never seen either help their owners. This young man took them all.

He was walking down the beach at the slow, rolling gait of someone one drink away from holding the ground with both hands to keep from falling off. One sandal had survived the exercise, but the other was gone to the wind. He was carrying the dregs of a $10 plastic gallon of cheap scotch in one hand, but his precious treasure was in the other hand.

He was dragging a white plastic card table like it was a pirate's chest. Three of the legs were gone, and every usable surface of the top and bottom were covered with Sharpie signatures. He must have spent all week partying and collecting names. Now he was almost out of time, almost out of whiskey, and almost out of places to sign, but he wasn't quite done yet.

I watched him heading down the island towards Mobile, dragging his prized possessions off to his next destination.