I’m Leo. I run a small, semi-respectable vintage memorabilia blog called Sunburst Trails . My niche is failed Florida tourist attractions—the ones that opened with a press conference and a gator in a top hat, then closed three months later when the owner was arrested for running a meth lab out of the gift shop. So when I saw the listing—“Florida Sun Models Two Cat, mint condition, estate sale find”—I assumed it was a typo. Maybe a rare promotional photo from the old “Florida Sun” water ski show? Or a scale model of the infamous “Two Cat” roller coaster that never passed inspection?
The first thing you notice about the “Florida Sun Models Two Cat” listing is the price: $12.99. Not twelve hundred, not twelve thousand—twelve ninety-nine. That’s how I ended up squinting at a cracked iPhone screen in a Wawa parking lot at 11 p.m., the air so thick with humidity it felt like breathing through a washcloth. florida sun models two cat
She slit the tape. Inside was Styrofoam padding, and nestled within it, two objects. I’m Leo
I gave her a twenty and told her to keep the change. Back in my apartment—a one-bedroom in Tampa that smelled of coffee grounds and deadline anxiety—I set the diorama on my balcony table. The next morning was pure Florida: sun like a hammer, sky the color of a gas flame. I positioned the model so the tiny plexiglass sun faced east. Then I waited. So when I saw the listing—“Florida Sun Models
And that’s worth way more than twelve ninety-nine.