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a while ago said we crossed the Saint Tammany Parish line.”
    â€œParish? You mean like nuns and shit?” Coleman rubbed phantom pain from his knuckles.
    â€œThe other forty-­nine states have counties, but because of Napoleonic law and influence, Louisiana has parishes,” said Serge. “The French are a curious tribe.”
    â€œBut what’s that got to do with Florida?”
    â€œWhen you say Louisiana, ­people think, sure, Louisiana Purchase, 1803, I was paying attention that day in school.”
    â€œI was home with the mumps.”
    â€œBut the purchase was mainly west of the Mississippi River. So where did Louisiana get the rest of the land that makes up the eastern bottom of its L shape?”
    â€œI’d like to buy a vowel.”
    â€œFlorida!” said Serge. “Back then our Panhandle stretched all the way to the Mississippi in a region controlled by Spain. But settlers of British descent didn’t dig it, and in 1810 they successfully stormed the garrison at Baton Rouge and proclaimed independence. It blows the mind! Few realize it today, but in the early nineteenth century, there was actually a separate country within the United States. They drew up a constitution—­which officially referred to the new nation as the ‘State of Florida’—­established branches of government, elected a legislature and designed a flag of a lone white star on a blue field. The president was named Fulwar Skipwith.”
    â€œYou’re making that up.”
    â€œHistory has an imagination greater than any writer,” said Serge. “Sadly, the new nation only lasted ninety days. The U.S. government looked south and said, ‘Nice work with the Spanish, boys. Now we’ll take that land, please.’ Then they annexed it to what became the state of Louisiana, but to this day the land is still referred to as the Florida Parishes. There are eight of them, including Saint Tammany. Discovering that kind of insane Florida trivia is so intense that I become temporarily incontinent.” Serge glanced around the empty stretch of road and pulled the car over. “This is as good a place as any.”
    â€œFor what?”
    Serge grabbed a long pole from the backseat. “Just stay alert.”
    The pair headed up a grassy embankment. Serge climbed over a barbed-­wire fence, and Coleman crawled under it. “Ow, ooo, ow . . .”
    Serge reached the top of a small hill and jammed his pole in the ground, unfurling a blue flag with a white star. Then he scanned the horizon. “I don’t see any opposition.”
    â€œWhat’s that noise?” asked Coleman.
    â€œSounds like a tractor.”
    They turned around. A furious farmer dismounted and stomped up the back side of the mound. “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing on my property?”
    â€œWe’re from Florida.” Serge raised the front of his tropical shirt to reveal a Colt .45 in his waistband. “You’re welcome to continue plowing this land if you shift your allegiance to my state.”
    The farmer began backing away slowly, then turned and ran.
    â€œMake that ninety-­one days and counting. And without a shot fired. I always wanted to be president.” Serge handed his camera to Coleman. “Take my picture next to the flag.”
    He grabbed the pole and stared off proudly.
    Click .
    Coleman handed the camera back. “What just happened?”
    â€œWe formed our own country.”
    Coleman froze. “Wait, what? . . . I can’t believe it! This is so incredible! I don’t know what to say! It’s the best idea you’ve ever had! I’ll never forget this day as long as I live!”
    â€œUh, thank you Coleman.” Serge rubbed his chin. “I always thought my history stuff kind of bored you.”
    â€œShit, no! I’ve never been so excited!”
    â€œThis is an astonishing