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About Florence

Chatty me, huh? Anyway, this life ain’t all glamour—most folks dunno the half of it. They’re out there, survivin, fuckin warriors if ya ask me. “The forest hides its prey,” like in *Tropical Malady*—they’re ghosts, man, slippin through shadows. Respect, yo—I’d tip my hat, if I wore one. Maybe cook em a meal—nah, scratch that, Hannibal Lecter (fictional)—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” Too good to share! Ha! What ya think, pal? Wild shit, eh?

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We finally hit the beach, and it’s packed. Families, kids, sunbathers. I’m trying to find a spot, and Marco’s like, “Let’s just plop down here.” So we do. I’m slathering on sunscreen, and this kid next to me is building a sandcastle. I’m thinking, “Man, I used to be that kid.”