miami vice

day one, miami FLA.

we arrive at the standard 4 hours too early, so we immediately hit the pool. while sunning in the kind of sticky, tingly heat that immediately tans, i overhear the two girls next to my sister talking about xanax. i look up and flash them a smile. 'you want some?' the blonde one asks me, and i do, but my sister is the opposite of feeling it, so i say maybe. but then she raises a joint and laughs. that i definitely want.

so i walk down the dock (still in plain sight of everyone at the pool) and spark this big beautifully rolled joint with vania and diana, these two latin dimepieces, and i tell them it's my first hour ever in miami.

diana laughs. "welcome to miami!"

will smith reference? check.

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the next evening, after a long session in the turkish hamam (and three caiparinhas), i hit up the hotel bar. i'm still in the robe... it seems as if it's cool to do that around here. i order a shot for me and the bartender, patron, and we're immediately friends. the couple next to me is super friendly... an attractive young businessman with glasses and a curvy cuban girl with big hair. she asks me if i like her man. i say, yeah, he seems cool. we talk a little bit about some books and i get the feeling they are definitely trying to bone. me. aldo writes his information on a napkin and i tuck it in my bathing suit.

later that night he texts me, room 701. the tides hotel. i don't go.

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at the bar the next day, the same bartender covers my drinks. cuba libres. i hear a rumor there's a hula hoop party upstairs in the yoga room and i end up in the midst of a throbbing drum circle with a bunch of middle aged hippies. i had no idea there were hippies in miami. all of em have great bodies. it takes me a few minutes to find my groove on the hoop but i end up working up a sweat there, really feeling the vibe. later, when sexy bingo's about to start, i run into the main drum guy, he's about sixty-five, tan, with a sort of khaki top hat covering a head of grey curls. i tell him i live in brooklyn and he says i don't belong there. he grew up off kings hwy. i said why? and he said you're not a regular person.

i don't think he's been to brooklyn for a long time.

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the bingo caller is a big beautiful black lesbian woman, and she cracks jokes the whole time. every time she picks up a ball everyone yells BALLS! and then she hands the mic to someone in the audience, who can choose to say 'in your mooouuuuth' or anything else that relates to balls. we win two mudbaths but don't have time to use them. when she puts the mic in my face i say, 'flapping in the wind'. i don't know why i say that.

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on the last day it's pouring rain and the cab driver only takes cash. my sister and i are broke for cash, spent way too much, so i have to overdraft to cover the fare. he drives us to fort lauderdale, it looks like a fucking tropical storm and i have anxiety. he has two cellphones and a walkie talkie, and uses all of them simultaneously while weaving through traffic on the freeway. i've had this anxiety since i fell asleep the night before but the juggling act he's performing is definitely not helping. i ask do you think the rain will delay flights? and he says yes of course, definitely. when we finally arrive he tells us, have a beautiful flight ladies!

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everything in miami feels like a trap... from the luscious hotel bed to the tingly sun to the 10 dollar drinks made up almost entirely of rum... it's a beautiful, an indulgent trap, but a trap nonetheless.

i'll be back there.