You Are What You Drive

Tom rented a Camaro for his Folly debut.

Uncomfortable, hardly intuitive (we had to call Thrifty for convertible assistance) but hella cool, nevertheless.

He looks like a real Floridian with those tats.

We drove to Ybor City for Losonczy family business (don't ask).  He felt right at home on 7th Avenue, the main drag.

Imagine getting a sleeve in this chair!

Cigars are even bigger business than body art.  Jim graciously gave us a guided tour of Tabanero at 10 a.m. on a Monday even though we told him we had no intention of inhaling.

Handrolling doesn't just happen in Cuba.

Women do all the grunt work, naturally.

I was more into the Ricky Ricardo fashion across the street

. . . . and local history.  Black and white enhances the feeling you've stepped back in time.

Jose Marti raised funds for Cuban independence in Ybor City.

I 💗 seahorses!

If Tom had his druthers, we'd have eaten here instead of a Hilton hotel restaurant in Clearwater Beach (again, don't ask).  Next time.

Jewish names adorned the tops of many buildings in the old business district.

Columbia nodded to the culture, too.

These tiles reminded me of a Don Quixote course I took in college when nobody paid much attention to the predations of Columbia professors like Karl Ludwig-Selig.  It was what it was.  For some an easy A.

Is this the Nina, Pinta or Santa Maria?  

The altacockers hopped on the free trolley back to the Camaro.

I hate GPS.  I thought the Sunshine Skyway would take us from Tampa to St. Petersburg.  In fact, it reversed our route.

Post Malone couldn't give a shit.