Eggleston revisited, with permission.

December 11, Ft Myers.

The house is being transformed faster than I can think of which color of paint to choose. Think Marcos and his brother Roosevelt, coaching Fridman.
If it weren't for all the permits you have to get, the Kafkaesque bureaucracy, it'd be moving along even faster. I'm beginning to understand the folks who don't want to have anything to do with the government, move out to the middle of nowhere and just want to be left alone.
You'd start to wonder if there's a permit you need to breathe around here.
Ah, the simple life of the road in a trailer.