Ashes, Ocean Breezes, and Exit Taxes

We are smoking the Rocky Patel Vintage 1992 at Cherry Grove Beach, SC.  We meet a couple moving from New York to Florida.  I am drinking (go ahead, judge me) a Strawberry Margarita.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:10

All right, settle in. There's something about Cherry Grove Beach that makes a man feel like he accidentally wandered into a postcard and decided not to leave. The Atlantic is doing its steady applause routine. The breeze is just strong enough to keep the mosquitoes unemployed. And I've got a Rocky Patel vintage 1993 cigar in one hand and a strawberry margarita in the other. Yes, I know. Strawberry margarita. Before you start questioning my masculinity, let me assure you, it's a large strawberry margarita. That cancels everything out. The Rocky Patel Vintage 1993 is one of those cigars that doesn't need a shout. It's smooth, a little nutty, just enough sweetness to make you think, yeah, I could I could get used to this. Kind of like low taxes. The draw is perfect. Burn line is straighter than a government promise. Okay, that's a lie. It's straighter than a libertarian primary debate. I'm sitting on one of those beach access benches that looks like it survived three hurricanes and at least one bad divorce. Sand is blowing around, seagulls are committing petty theft, and life is good. That's when they walk up. A nice couple, late 60s, sun hats, that we finally escaped something, glow. I start with the usual beautiful day. Can't beat it! So, where are you folks from? And then they say like they're confessing to a crime. Manhattan. I pause, I take a slow puff, look out at the ocean like I'm processing a war story. Ah, I say. You made it out. They laugh, not a polite laugh, but a a knowing laugh. The kind of laugh that says that they've seen property tax bill recently, and it's not good. Turns out they're heading to Fort Fort Lauderdale, retirement move. Sunshine, palm trees, and this was said with reverence. Or no state income tax. You could practically hear the angels singing. They start telling me about New York, taxes stacking up like yenga blocks, regulations on top of regulations, the feeling that every time you breathe, someone in Albany invoices you. At one point, the husband says, We spent our whole lives voting a certain way, and now we don't even recognize it anymore. And there it is at that moment. The political midlife crisis. They lean in a bit, lower their voices like they're about to admit that they enjoy nickelback. We've always been Democrats, but it's gone too far. It feels socialist now. I take a sip of my margarita, purely for a dramatic effect, and let the cigar rest for a second. Now, this is where most people pick a team jersey and start swinging, but not me. No, no. This is where things get fun. The wife smiles and said, So you're Republican, right? I almost choke on the strawberry puree. Republican? Ma'am, I'm sitting on a weathered bench drinking what is essentially an adult smoothie, smoking a meticulously aged cigar, and watching the ocean like I've got nowhere to be. Does that sound like a man who fits neatly into a two-party box? I grin. Uh no, I'm I'm one of the weird ones. Pregnant pause. I I I'm I'm an independent libertarian. They both blink. You can see the mental filing cabinets opening. Is that like Republican? Kind of, but with less yelling and more minding your own business. That got a laugh. So I give them the quick and dirty. You keep more of your money, you make more of your own choices. Government gets downsized from overbearing parent to distant cousin you see at weddings. The husband nods slowly. The wife says, That actually sounds reasonable. And that's when I knew I had them on the ropes. They started asking questions. So what about the roads? Okay, it's always about the roads. What about Social Security? Wouldn't people just do whatever they want? I said, yes. Pause. And that's the kind of the point. That one hung in the air for a second, like a good cigar note that you don't want to lose. We went back and forth for a while. No shouting, no cable guy news energy, just three people on a bench solving the world's problems between puffs and sips. At one point, the husband chuckles and says, You libertarians, you sound crazy. I nod. Yeah, but it's the kind of crazy that leaves you alone. That got the biggest laugh of the day. They eventually stand up, brush the sand off, and get ready to head out. Before they go, the wife says, You've given us something to think about. And I respond, Hey, that's how it starts. First, it's thinking. The next thing you know, you're questioning zoning laws. They laugh again and walk off toward their future in Florida freedom. Now I'm sitting here again, just me, the ocean, and and the last third of this beautiful Rocky Patel vintage 1993 cigar. I can't help but wonder, did I just plant a seed? Or did they just get in the car and say, nice guy, but absolutely unhinged? Honestly, with libertarians, it's always a coin toss. The cigar is getting warmer and richer now. A little more bite, a little more depth, kind of like these conversations. Here's the thing: most people don't switch sides overnight. They don't wake up one day and say, you know what? I'm completely reworking my worldview today. They just don't have those moments. Little cracks in the foundation. Tiny, tiny little cracks. A conversation on a bench, a laugh at the right time, an idea that doesn't feel like a lecture. That is how it spreads. Not with megaphones, but with margaritas. So here we are. Cherry Grove Beach, salt air, empty cup, and a cigar that's down to the nub. And somewhere between Manhattan and Fort Lauderdale, there's a couple rethinking just a few things a little bit. And me, I'll be right here, smoking, sipping, and quietly corrupting the two-party system. One pleasant beach conversation at a time. This has been Liberty on Nicotine, where the smoke is thick, drinks are questionable, and the ideas just dangerous enough to make you smile. Thank you for listening to Liberty on Nicotine.

SPEAKER_02 7:43

Sun go down, I'm sitting by the shore. Got the smoke rising up drifting through my door. Everybody walk a little bit.

SPEAKER_01 10:47

Freedom's the flavor in this smoke of mine.