Tourist Season: A Truce

Every local complains about season. The traffic on 41, the hour wait for a grouper sandwich, the parking at the beach access gone by nine a.m.

I wrote two whole songs about it — "Tourist Season" and "Winter Traffic" — and somewhere between them I accidentally talked myself into a truce. Because here's the thing I finally admitted: yeah, they all came lookin' for a piece of gold... and honestly I kinda get it now.

Everybody in that rental car saved all year to spend one week in the place I get on a random Tuesday. Kind of rearranges your complaining, when you let it.

So: a truce. They can have the parking. I've got the drum circle, Point of Rocks in September, and the whole Gulf back by May.