I was standing in the shade of the historic marker on the wharf listing writers and presidents who have visited there. I like smoking with the names wondering if Charles Dickens knew he would be immortalized on the backside of a plaque describing the Steamboat Era. A woman walking by stopped, asked me if the wharf was safe to walk. Her skin perma-tanned like leather.

“No one’s walking,” she said looking past me through pitch black designer sunglasses. “I don’t see people…”

Do not belabor the obvious. No everyone is an alligator in the heat.

I tell her it’s safe. More lights. More cameras. The cops even drive through sometimes.

After the cruise, I’m driving home in the dark. Gaggles of co-eds and zombies run loose in Old Louisville. A sedan with Florida plates cut me off and tried to break check me. I swerved and missed them.

Amateurs.