Diablo is sitting on a trailer under the shade of a lychee tree, victim of the economy and old age. The paint is faded, the stays are rusted, the keel needs to be de-barnacled, and the club membership and mooring are luxuries which have become temporarily unaffordable.
Gone are the glory days sailing the blue waters of Biscayne Bay, with white sails unfurled to the wind and the sun. Gone are the jaunts to Elliot Key, to Key Biscayne or late night cruises on the bay. Regattas are things of the past, as are the many trophies, tarnished, dusty and forgotten atop the bedroom bookcase.
No more Coronas on ice, no more nude revelers frolicking at sea, or dolphins swimming alongside Diablo. Now, the only ‘babes’ sunbathing on deck are decapitated and nude Barbies and their military friend, rescued from the stash of discarded pool time toys.
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