Alas, here we are… it’s summer, the sweltering heat is scorching the top of your head. Sweat drips from the brow and trails down due to gravity. SUMMER, the best of the year to make memories of friendships and lazy afternoons at the beach. There’s nothing quite like these memories from childhood… when friends came without assumptions of baggage.
They were just friends. They were real.
The other day, I was out walking the dog in my neighborhood, just a transitory stroll through the town I love. A neighbor had the garage open  every time I’d walk past and there stood a six foot tall Santa Claus. It would catch my attention every day, I am, after all, the author of The Santa Claus Killer. So, one day I decide to ring the doorbell and ask to speak to the homeowner.
A friendly woman comes out, I introduce myself and explain how wonderful the Santa is, offer to rent, buy or trade for the fat man and display it at my book signing events.
“Sure, my name is XXXXX !” she says.
“Maybe I can sign a novel for you, bring it by?”
“That would be great,” she says.
Later that evening, as I walked the dog, as I do every evening, I walk to the door, ring the bell and … no answer. Okay, I think, the husband and wife are probably out for a stroll just like all my neighbors .
This is where it gets strange, dear reader. Two blocks away, the husband comes running up the street and pushes me to the ground, threatening to kill me.  He ‘s irate and apparently has me confused with someone else,  some sort of deviant of which I can assure I am not.

Having slapped the phone from my hand, he would have gone further if the  police department didn’t arrive. They listened to this man’s irate allegations about me being some sicko on probation for god knows what. So, naturally, the police run my name and info and SURPRISE, I am not the guy this man claims I am.  He’s just another lunatic in Florida looking for a reason to shoot someone.
I’ve been watching the reactions here in Florida, of people like this neighbor of mine, willing to run down the street and accost an innocent person of whatever they conjure up into their small minds. You’d figure a decent man would realize he’s made a mistake and apologize, set the record straight, maybe man up and say he’s sorry.
Of course, that’s not the way our society is headed, not here in Florida, where everyone has an inkling the boogeyman is stalking them for reasons only they may justify.
After thirty minutes of dealing with the nicest police officer I’ve ever met (and trust me there have been many in my earlier life- oh well) the officer apologized for the scene that the man had created. I must say, the officer was nice and I sincerely respect this department.
But this guy was not arrested for shoving and assaulting me.
I’m just a writer, but if I was to venture a guess at how many Zimmerman wannabees there are here in Florida,  I suspect there are plenty of suspects to haul in .
They can start in the Town of Belleair, not far from Indian Rocks Road, but be careful, there are psycho’s running loose in the streets looking for any excuse to kill on a Friday afternoon..

Maybe I’ll call my agents in New York and Los Angeles,   perhaps there’s a  bestselling novel in this, maybe I’ll call it The Watchman and place the scene in the town I love.