The Wings of Icarus / Panama City
The art of courtship. It is an event as interesting in the complexity of its nature as it is predictable in the simplicity of its inevitable result. In Panama City this event has taken on a life of its own, precipitated by the presence of a powerful device: the beer bong.
There are many other courtship routines (most involving lap dance contests and bikinis), but no other carry the social significance of the beer bong – a life-giving funnel designed to both sustain individuals and to connect a group as one.
As they pass the bong back and forth, many kneeling in prayer to suck from the polyurethane teat and sharing in the sustenance provided from above as though it were summer rain watering a barren land, some begin to create bonds that will last later into the night.
But in such a complicated and precise courtship routine there also lies a danger. Especially for those who, like Icarus before them, go too far. Hunched over the beach with hands on knees and protestations of “I’m okay, I’m okay,” interspersed between dry heaves, the inevitable will not be denied. As easily as the golden liquid poured in, it pours out in projected paroxysms of chunky vomit. The next morning, dawn makes clear the perils of consuming the gods’ ambrosia. Bodies are strewn face down in the sand. There they lie, alone and rejected. Spring it seems, does not always give one a break.