Sloppy Joe’s Bar stands on the corner of Greene and Duval, Key West’s main drag, where much of the Florida island city’s commotion takes place. On an early Saturday evening in April, the mayhem was already well under way: barefoot bachelorette parties, zigzagging golf carts, all of the boisterousness, board shorts and muscular calves so particular to the American vacation spirit.
In the former fisher’s bar, once beloved by Ernest Hemingway, the crowd was in holiday mode – sun-pinkened and half-dressed, ordering more pitchers of beer to buffer their fried pickle chips and conch fritters. At 5.30pm, Gerd Rube took to the stage – as he does most Saturdays at Sloppy Joe’s. He had a look that recalled the soft rock scene of the 1980s: hair bleached and long, skin deeply tanned, T-shirt consummately faded.
