Drifter: “Hey, man, how are you,” He asks me from behind, and I turn to face him: “Hey I’m good. How are you?” Drifter: “I’m fucking great, man. ‘Bout to go lay on the beach, it’s a beautiful day, and I got the best fountain in St Pete.” I glance over to my left, at the water fountain, I had just had a drink there moments before. I smile and I nod: “Oh yeah, man, this water fountain right here–this water fountain right here–that’s the best shit ever.” My smile is crooked. Enthusiasm, inflating intentionally. His smile remains, his eyes sink. Drifter: “It is.” He nods me, and pushes past me with his bicycle. I see him onward to the beach; his backpack stuffed full with various items, of which some expose, prescription pill containers in the front netting, with no pills but just things. His clothes, dirty. I realize it’s true. This is the best fountain in St Pete.