It’s a late Monday morning and downtown Fort Myers looks hungover.
First Street is sleepy still, its restaurants just starting to unlock doors and unfurl umbrellas. In Patio de Leon an empty whiskey box sits perched in the branches of an oak tree, above a palm-thatched rollaway bar that’s yet to be rolled away.
“That shouldn’t be out,” Kevin Schoensee says, tapping a note into his iPhone then slipping it into the pocket of his jeans.