Choosing My Divorce & Learning to Fish
Lessons on labor and the futile attempt to rewire society’s economics toward good, meaningful work.
In the small village of Cortez, Florida — tucked away in a neighborhood bordered by a burgeoning state highway full of tourists and professionals who are often impeded by an antiquated two-lane bridge unable to account for the to-do list of 21st century America — sits an old fish market that appears to be stuck in colonial expansion.
Arriving at the market involves meandering through dilapidated side streets toward the bay where an old warehouse occupies your purview. The approach is a game of avoiding the remains of congealed fish; of which the smell is a fair warning to the gross doom. To the left of the property sits an abandoned-looking house, no doubt still occupied. Tucked between the contrast of the commercial warehouse and the fading residence is the market set against a worn dock playing host to a vibrant cast of birds.
The most eye-catching feature, however, is one that is the most unexpected. It sits on the edge of the property, visible to anyone entering or exiting the market and, with a faded picture hinting that the sign has not been touched for decades, a message matching the assumed ideology of the laborers enhances the contrast of modern America…
