Tampa | Alissa Nutting Sample |best|

The Realtor of Sun City Center

“People float here all the time,” I say, smiling. My teeth feel like Chiclets glued to a gumline. “It’s the buoyancy of denial.” tampa alissa nutting sample

I drive back over the Howard Frankland Bridge, the bay below me the color of a dirty aquarium. I roll down the window and let the wind eat my hair. Another soul tucked into a stucco coffin. Another commission check for a woman who teaches tenth-grade English and thinks about her students’ fathers during third period. The Realtor of Sun City Center “People float

Tampa in August is a sauna lined with strip malls. The air is so thick with humidity you could chew it like taffy, and the only thing more relentless than the sun is the soft, rotting smell of the bay at low tide. This is where I sell dreams. Or rather, where I sell the illusion that a three-bedroom, two-bath with hurricane shutters and a lanai can outrun the inevitable. I roll down the window and let the wind eat my hair

She doesn’t laugh. They never laugh. That’s the secret of Tampa real estate: no one is buying a home. They are buying a vault to store their grief. A garage to park the memory of the affair they had in 1987. A walk-in closet to hide the bankruptcy papers. I unlock the sliding glass door, and the air inside is the smell of last year’s pork roast and a rug that’s seen a thousand bare feet.

Tampa, I think. You beautiful, rotting manatee. You sparkler dipped in sewage. You’re the only place where I can be this honest and still get a five-star review on Zillow. This sample mimics Nutting’s use of visceral, grotesque imagery, a deadpan first-person narrator with questionable morals, and a setting (Florida) that acts as a character in itself—sultry, decaying, and absurdly comic.

Mrs. Hendricks touches the blinds. Her manicured nail leaves a tiny dent in the plastic. “Is it haunted?”