Tuesday, February 20, 2001, a little before 6 PM. I make my way to what remains of Mallory Square just off Front and Duvall Streets in the northwest corner of Key West, Florida. The Hilton Resort and Marina have overtaken much of it, and the rest has been paved over so the endless phalanx of tourists can take in the tightrope walkers and fire-eating acts while buying tons of shlock souvenirs. Where is the Key West I had long heard about? The Iguana Man? The ghost of Ernest Hemmingway with his assortment of wives and mistresses? The old gay lovers holding hands in the sunset, knowing that at least here they would be safe from arrest? Maybe I'm naive, but I really expected to see Jimmy Buffett strolling on the beach with his guitar in one hand and a piña colada in the other. (Jimmy's lyrics to the contrary notwithstanding, down here the booze of choice is rum, not tequilla. Margaritaville is just the name of a high-priced bar he owns somewhere along Duvall!)

No matter. In a corner of the square I find a low brick wall to seat myself upon. Around me there are a handful of gents and one lady, all of whom appear to have seen better times. If this is all that remains of the old Key West, then I shall make the most of it. I take out my guitar and start off with _It Takes a Worried Man_ and then segué right into _Going Down This Road Feeling Bad_. My audience perks up. No one has played any songs for them in quite a while. One of the men asks, "Are you playing for money?"

"No," I quickly reply.

"Well that's good," he explains, "because we ain't got any!"

My next song is _San Francisco Bay Blues_. Then I do a request from the old man who said they didn't have any money. He asked, "Can you do _Stagger Lee_?" Damn, I wish they were all so easy! Now I am beginning to attract a crowd. The tourists are coming! The tourists are coming! My next number is a really loud one, _Hard Traveling_, followed in short order by _Rocky Top_, _Wreck of the Old 97_, and _Old Joe Clark_. Then I throw in an Irish tune, _Star of the County Down_, before attempting to end the impromptu set with _Rolling In My Sweet Baby's Arms__. But the crowd shouts "Encore!" and I oblige them with _Jesse James_ followed by _Billy the Kid_ followed by _Pretty Boy Floyd_.

Finally I'm exhausted and out of breath. I have to take a break. The tourists quickly melt away, but as they do one comes up to me and with some sort of European accent -- German or Austrian or Swiss perhaps -- offers me a five-dollar bill. I tell him, "Give it to my roadie," and I point to the old man who had requested _Stagger Lee_. The tourist complies with my request, and as soon as he is gone I signal the man to keep it. He thanks me.

Just then the sun finishes going down over the Gulf of Mexico. A loud cheer arises up and down the waterfront area. Someone nearby shouts, "Yea!" It's the one woman in the group. It seems she has a date tonight to share five dollars worth of rum.

Oh, the joys of being a real folksinger!

--- Steve