THE LEGEND OF BAHAMA BOBBY, by Melinda LoomisDavey’s Bar was stuffy and sparsely populated; the crowds would come later. The bartender was smoking hot and probably a decade my junior, but I was still tempted to flirt with him like crazy—after all, it was Key West, and although it was my first trip there, I’d read enough to know it was not small-town America. Think weird, kind of like if Las Vegas had a remote, oceanfront sibling.
But that’s not what I was there for. What I’d come to see was hanging on the wall behind the bar, the now infamous painting of a run-down RV park, surrounded by palm trees and backed by a beautiful sunset. For some odd reason, the artist had placed Key West’s iconic Southernmost Point buoy among the aged vehicles. Just to establish location, I supposed, in case a
