live. work. dream.

When we arrived in Fort Lauderdale, we felt like we’d just fallen off a turnip truck. The traffic is insane, the wealthy blatantly flaunt their money, and the price of real estate skyrockets. People in general are rude and aggressive, and it’s every man and woman for themselves. And as with most of Florida, it isn’t dog friendly.

We asked our friend Gene if it would be alright if we left Jerry in the truck with the windows cracked, while we met him for dinner at the Blue Moon Fish Company. He rattled off something about four cops and one pro athlete being killed in the immediate area in the last year, and said “you decide.”

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