![]() He remembers the rest of the night in “blackout splatches,” which have since mixed with the stories he’s heard about himself: how he jumped into a crocodile pool at a local zoological park after hours, got bit by an American crocodile, and barely escaped with his life - but not his Crocs shoes, which were found floating in the water the next day. He’s sure the whiskey led to smoking weed, but he’s not as clear on how that led to fentanyl, Ecstasy and whatever else ended up in his toxicology report. ![]() ![]() Augustine, America’s oldest city, he was drinking Jack Daniel’s. That night, at a Best Western not far from the Fountain of Youth theme park in St. Hatfield finds it hard to separate the fact from the fiction of what took place on the night of Nov. With a warm Southern drawl and a crooked smirk, he says, “I remember half of what happened … and half of what didn’t.” ![]() Sporting a buzz cut, prison blues and a chin-strap beard, the slim 24-year-old Floridian Brandon Hatfield leans sideways in a rolling office chair inside the St.
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