Andrew Cooper in gladder times

Possibly, it doesn't strain recall just yet, to reflect on Andrew Cooper's sad excursion to the wrong place for him. Whit and I go back a fair ways in this page, however, and like to recall how crisp his jammies were at dawn, hearts warming to the purity of repose they portrayed. But his most recent sighting but one, was of his merry gambol with a colleague, Will Chalker, as the two were found in Key West, sportive chums revising a narrative from one medium for another. None too soon, we've received another memento of that frolic, which we present to assuage recent memory, and restore the diptych introduced above.

But there you are, the miracle of the capacious Gulf: bathing, no waiting. No lines, no unseemly traffic, no tussling for the shower head, no remorse for the dropt bar of soap, no fretting the exhaustion of warm water before our turn, no slip-and-fall litigation to increase our premiums. No wonder these fellows seem agog in their exuberance, as if virtually free to disport in the watery amenity at the same time. Indeed there are pastimes to rival the achievement of crisp jammies, however incompatible with such perfection, they may be. But not even the exclusive shower head can lead to such ease, much less to the delight embraced in the Gulf.