Florida Republicans have shown they can walk and chew gum when it

Host: The afternoon sun hung low over Tallahassee, bleeding through the haze of heat and politics. The air was thick — part humidity, part tension, the kind of oppressive stillness that always comes before an election or a storm. Outside the Capitol building, the palmettos swayed lazily against the bright sky, as if even nature was tired of being debated.

Inside a small press café across the street, Jack sat in the booth by the window, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee and a fresh copy of a political op-ed. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his tie loosened, and a faint sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. Across from him, Jeeny stirred an iced tea with her straw, the ice cubes clinking like measured punctuation to her silence.

Between them lay a printed quote, bold and almost cheerful in its optimism:

“Florida Republicans have shown they can walk and chew gum when it comes for deregulation and promoting environmental stewardship.”
— Michael Waltz

Host: The quote lingered like a challenge — half boast, half contradiction — hanging in the air above their silence.

Jack: “You have to admit,” he said finally, his voice low but steady, “it’s a good line. Simple. Clever. It’s what voters like — the illusion of balance.”

Jeeny: “Illusion?” she echoed. “That’s what you call it when someone claims you can deregulate and protect at the same time?”

Jack: “It’s not impossible. Deregulation doesn’t always mean destruction. Sometimes it just means getting government out of the way.”

Jeeny: “And who steps in when government steps out?”

Jack: “The people. The market. Responsibility.”

Jeeny: “You mean profit.”

Jack: “You say that like it’s dirty.”

Jeeny: “It is when it runs deeper than the rivers we’re trying to save.”

Host: The ceiling fan spun lazily above them, its blades whispering a rhythm too slow to cool the air. The sunlight through the window cut across their faces — one side gold, the other shadow — like a metaphor they were both too tired to name.

Jack: “Look, you can’t regulate your way to progress, Jeeny. Every time the state tries to control environmental policy, it ends up strangling innovation. Companies know how to adapt if you let them. They don’t need a bureaucrat telling them where the sea level is.”

Jeeny: “Adapt?” she said, with a sharp laugh. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Dumping waste until someone else has to clean it up? Bulldozing wetlands to build another resort? That’s not adaptation, Jack — that’s amnesia.”

Jack: “You can’t blame every company for the sins of a few.”

Jeeny: “You can when the sins are the business model.”

Host: Her words hit the table like rain on tin — small, sharp, persistent. Jack didn’t flinch, but his eyes dropped for a moment to the quote, to those two words: walk and chew. The phrase was meant to sound effortless, but it carried a weight that the rhetoric couldn’t disguise.

Jack: “You talk like you don’t believe in compromise.”

Jeeny: “Not when compromise means losing the coast. Or the coral. Or the air.”

Jack: “That’s not fair. We’ve got conservation projects, Everglades restoration, coral reef programs. You can’t pretend Florida’s just a wasteland.”

Jeeny: “And how long do you think those projects last once deregulation kicks in? You can’t serve two gods, Jack — not profit and protection. One always devours the other.”

Jack: “You’re turning this into a morality play. It’s policy, not theology.”

Jeeny: “Everything’s theology when you start deciding what deserves to live.”

Host: Outside, the faint sound of cicadas rose — that endless, metallic hum of Florida summer. The noise filled the silence between their words, a sound that felt both ancient and warning.

Jack: “You know what your problem is?” he said, half-smiling. “You think regulation is a moral act. It’s not. It’s a negotiation — between what we want to save and what we can afford to lose.”

Jeeny: “And who gets to decide that? You? Lawmakers in air-conditioned offices? The ones who never see the red tide or the flooding or the families who lose their homes to hurricanes?”

Jack: “Somebody has to make the hard calls.”

Jeeny: “Then make the right ones.”

Host: The waitress walked by, refilling Jack’s cup. The smell of burnt coffee briefly filled the space. Neither thanked her. Their silence had become a third presence — larger than the room, older than the argument.

Jeeny: “Do you know what stewardship really means?” she said quietly. “It’s not about balance. It’s about belonging. It means remembering that the world isn’t yours to own, it’s yours to care for.”

Jack: “And deregulation doesn’t erase that. It just lets people take initiative instead of waiting for permission.”

Jeeny: “People don’t take initiative to protect. They take initiative to profit. It’s in our nature.”

Jack: “Then maybe that’s the real problem — not the laws, but the nature.”

Jeeny: “And that’s exactly why we have laws — to save us from ourselves.”

Host: The light shifted again. Outside, the sky had gone from gold to gray, clouds building quietly in the west. It was the kind of sky Florida knew too well — the kind that whispered of rain and reckoning.

Jack: “You think I don’t care about the planet?” he said suddenly, almost defensive. “I do. But the economy matters too. Jobs. Growth. You can’t just shut everything down in the name of purity.”

Jeeny: “I’m not asking for purity. I’m asking for accountability.”

Jack: “And who decides what that looks like?”

Jeeny: “Maybe the ones who’ll have to live with the results. The children. The grandchildren.”

Jack: “That’s emotional manipulation.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. That’s memory. And we’ve lost it.”

Host: Her words hung there — fragile, furious, and full of truth. The storm outside began to break, rain hitting the window in sudden bursts, streaking the glass until the world beyond it blurred.

Jack: “You sound like every environmentalist who forgets that human beings are part of the ecosystem too. You save the manatee, you bankrupt the fisherman. You can’t save everything.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the measure of progress is what we choose not to save. What we decide we can live without. The irony is, by the time we realize what that is — it’s already gone.”

Jack: “You think deregulation is the apocalypse. It’s not. It’s just trying to make things move faster.”

Jeeny: “And sometimes faster is how things die.”

Host: The rain intensified, the sound now a roar. It filled the room like a sermon, drowning out everything but their breathing.

Jack: “You ever think about the irony?” he said finally, almost to himself. “A politician preaching environmental stewardship. A headline that sounds like salvation. And yet, deep down, we all know it’s just branding.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the real act of stewardship is learning to stop pretending.”

Jack: “Pretending what?”

Jeeny: “That we can walk and chew gum at the same time when the ground beneath us is already melting.”

Host: The rain softened again, tapping gently now, like the quiet after an argument that hasn’t been resolved but simply exhausted. Jack looked out the window, where the Capitol dome was barely visible through the haze.

Jack: “You think it’s too late?”

Jeeny: “No,” she said. “Just later than we think.”

Jack: “And what happens if we don’t fix it?”

Jeeny: “Then history will. And it won’t be kind.”

Host: The storm began to move east, leaving behind that strange Florida calm — the kind that feels borrowed, temporary, like peace written in pencil.

Jeeny gathered her things, sliding the paper toward him one last time.

Jeeny: “You know, Waltz said they can walk and chew gum. But that’s not the question.”

Jack: “Then what is?”

Jeeny: “Whether they’ll still be walking when the earth gives way.”

Host: She left, her figure dissolving into the reflection of the rain-streaked glass. Jack remained seated, staring at the paper, the quote now smeared by a stray drop of water.

Outside, the sun began to break through again — hot, indifferent, relentless.

And somewhere beneath that brightness, Michael Waltz’s words echoed — not as praise, but as prophecy:

“We can deregulate and protect the earth.”

Host: And in the lingering silence, the sea whispered its quiet rebuttal:

“You can do both — until the tide decides otherwise.”