Read this. Michael Mooney: A wiry man with tufts of gray hair hanging over his glasses shuffles into the Pirate Republic Bar late one warm Thursday night carrying a cigar box full of worn-down crayons and a stack of ruffled papers. A few of the newer bar patrons wonder aloud if he is yet another Fort Lauderdale vagrant looking for change. But the regulars light up.
Mickey Clean's leather shoes are worn out, his khaki shorts are dirty, and his wrinkled white button-up shirt hangs loosely off his narrow shoulders. He wears a faint cologne of stale beer and cigarette smoke. He has a gentle, Bojangles smile. Some people say he's the happiest man at the beach. Mickey is something of a local legend, a threadbare gypsy soul who's a fixture in the barrooms and drinkeries in this area.
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