Lafayette Park

[dropcap]Y[/dropcap]ou know where Lafayette Park is?” the old man asked. He sat at the Apalach’ bar, looking tired, with skin like shoe leather.

For those who don’t know, Lafayette park is a little manicured slice of land in Apalachicola, Florida, positioned on the edge of the bay, with a quaint little gazebo that Tallahassee hipsters use for various Pinterest weddings.

“You know that Park used to be a graveyard?” he set his beer bottle down and wiped his face.“They moved the cemetery in the 1930s over to the new spot, but here’s the kicker, they didn’t dig up all the bodies. Some bodies were left.”

“Years later, workers building a house nearby were out digging the foundation when they hit a metal box with their shovels. They got all hot and sweaty, thinking that they’d found a big mess of pirate booty.”

He paused, and let the word “booty” hang in the air.

“Like greedy little snots, they reburied the box and didn’t tell a soul about it. I reckon that’s what you do when you think you’ve found a bunch of booty.”

There was that word again.

“Later that night, they went out to dig it up in secret. Imagine their surprise when they found a hundred and fifty year old blonde laying in the box.”

I patted him on the shoulder, “Looks like they found themselfs some old booty.”

 

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