Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, so I thought I'd post pictures of a real Indian. Or half of one.
On our recent trip to SIBA. Becky and I passed that bastion of Native Kitsch: the smoke shop.
I wrote that Daytona is the town that time forgot, and its smoke shop sported the widest variety of Indian busts and statues I've ever seen.
There are only two shots because Becky felt nervous about going inside and flicking pictures of me looking pissed. She would have done it if I asked, but I didn't want to make her uncomfortable.
Shame on you, Daytona.