I travel around St. Augustine with mannequins, they wear novelty shirts like “UF GATORS” and “SALT LIFE” to embody the state of 'Floridian.' I take them to the Fountain of Youth, pour sulfur fountains into their vacant casks, as much as they can hold. We slug along salted inlet, past Castillo, I read to them how Spain relinquished Florida to the United States in 1821— the government’s call for the removal of all Seminoles to Indian Territory west of the Mississippi River— Castillo de San Marcos becomes a prison for Natives who once fought beside the founding Spaniards— I drag them to the lighthouse then I prop cigarettes and minis of Jack Daniels on their mouths so they can feel some spark again, I point out orange crabs skittering like spiders across sand, they let the ashes of cigarettes get too long, I say, “Isn’t this living?”