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327 pages, Hardcover
First published January 7, 2020
2017
“Don’t shoot guns into the hurricane.”
Elsewhere this would go without saying, but Floridians need to be told.
This was an actual warning issued by the Pasco County Sheriff’s Office just north of Tampa Bay as a major storm approached. After all, a local man had just been arrested for DUI when he tried to order a taco in a Bank of America drive-through.
The alert was a reaction to people posting plans on the Internet for a party to shoot at the hurricane and make it turn away. The sheriff’s notice even included a scientific diagram showing how the vortex of the core could curve bullet paths to come back and hit the shooter.
“Shooting at a hurricane!” said Serge. “That’s the most brainless thing I’ve ever heard!”
…
“I’m still not sure.” Coleman flicked a Bic. “We’re the only car heading this direction.”
“I’ve taken every conceivable precaution,” said Serge, absentmindedly waving a pistol out the window as Coleman did a bong hit. “What can possibly go wrong?”
Amazingly, this short strip of tiny towns along the bottom of Lake Okeechobee has produced more than sixty players in the National Football League

But this wasn’t some thrill sport like running with the bulls in Pamplona. It was economic. Each pelt brought a few dollars, and what was left was dinner. Only if you lived around here could you realize how much of a difference that made. From years of experience passed down by word of mouth, even the youngest kids knew how to approach a burning field and head off the rabbits being flushed out.
