in a small gated community in Clearwater, Florida, it’s easy to pick out the sailor’s house. Boat trailers obstruct the tree-lined street out front, and the disassembled pontoons of at least two Nacra 17s consume the narrow driveway. Inside, wetsuits hang from the ceiling rafters, drying. Bora Gulari, barefoot with coffee in hand, squints into early-morning rays from the front porch of the bungalow. He sports the deep tan of a waterman, and his mop of black curls hangs over his eyes. Pushing up the sleeves on a worn-out gray hoodie bearing the American flag and “GULARI” across the back, he shakes my hand and asks me for a ride to the local Publix to pick up laundry detergent.