We stood on the Everglades boardwalk, an hour south of Miami Beach, squinting in the sun, looking like fools. He was as white as milk and as gangly as Napoleon Dynamite, with a gaudy beach towel we'd bought at a Kmart tied around his neck. I was dressed head to toe in blue light specials: a bright orange cover up and plastic sandals three sizes too big. As we stood in our absurd get ups, marring the blue skied Florida backdrop, he told me I looked like a Dreamsicle.