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runs to it from the mainland starts off as a raised bridge that lets the boat traffic on the Intracoastal Waterway pass through underneath.  Then it comes back down to the water and continues as a man made causeway over to the island of Clearwater Beach.  There are turnoffs along the causeway that let you pull over and park on the grass under the palm trees.  A strip of sand serves as a beach on both sides of the causeway.  You can park there for free and fish or launch your kayak, or just sit and enjoy the view.  Since it's the Intracoastal, it's shallow and the bottom is too mucky for swimming.  I like to go there sometimes and just watch the people. 
                  As we came off the causeway we passed the marina where some expensive boats sat idly at dock.  "I've never seen any of those boats move," I said to Willey.  "I guess the people who own them are so busy working to pay for them that they don't have time to sail them." 
                  We hit the traffic circle on the island and passed a large hole in the ground that used to be a hotel that my late wife and I stayed at while on vacation many years ago.  They had torn down the hotel and were going to build high rise condos there.  A lot of coastal Florida was being torn down to make room for more condos.  I guess it's progress.  We went off the rotary onto to Gulfview Boulevard, the beach road bordering the Gulf.  We drove down Gulfview a few blocks and then I took a left onto the back streets.  I wasn't going to pay those exaggerated parking fees on the main drag. 
                  We found a place to park on a street that ran parallel to Gulfview, and were walking back to the beach road when I spotted a homeless woman sitting on the ground on the shady side of a dumpster.  She had her back against a wall and was talking to herself in the manner of most of the homeless . . . and myself.  It's difficult to wrap our minds around being homeless, even though the best of us are only a misstep away from it.  It's especially disturbing when we come upon a woman in that situation.  I always try to help those less fortunate than I am, but lately it's been hard to find people less fortunate than I am.  She qualified. 
                  She wore her long, gray hair in a ponytail, which gave her the odd effect of looking like a wrinkled young girl.  But the ponytail went well with her bicycle shorts.  I figured I'd do my civic duty and drop a fiver on her.  She looked up as I came near her with the five in my hand.
                  "I don't do that anymore," she said.
                  I told her I was glad to hear it, and held out the five.  She reached out and grabbed it faster than any frog's tongue ever zapped a mosquito.  I waited a beat but there was no thanks coming.  Then she slapped herself in the face! 
                  "Are you alright?" I asked.
                  "'Course I'm alright," she said.  Then she slapped herself in the face again. 
                  "Well," I said, "it's just . . ."   She mumbled something I couldn't understand.  I put my hand up and cupped my ear to let her know I couldn't hear her.  She motioned me closer with her finger.  I leaned in close to hear what she wanted to tell me.                                                                                                                                        "You're a dufus," she said, and then she slapped me!  Willey doubled up laughing.  The old lady cackled like a hen laying an egg--then she slapped herself.  I tried to look indignant but I couldn't pull it off.  I had to smile.
                  "She sure got you good," Willey said as we walked away.
                  We walked up to Gulfview