miami mami

SoBe poses like nothing else on the planet. The cars, the music, the hotels, the clubs, the babes in monokinis, and the what the hell is that, a guy in a mohawk, tattoos, abs like rocks, defying gravity while hanging from a gymnastics bar in everywhich way… and he’s carrying a huge yellow boa snake. Well, the jaded me is in love with SoBe. I see guys in candycolored Lamborghinis parking in front of the Clevelander, gullwing doors up, music blasting at volume eleven… everywhere else in the world this would not seem natural. But not in South Beach. Here, it all makes sense. Here, life is comprehensively deregulated and decomplicated. Quick, give me a shot of good toxic. Let’s go out tonite.

Yeah. While border control in Miami was the worst half a day spent in the history of history (the length of the queue stretched to Missisippi, my heels got wet), the rest was awesome. Even a ridiculous flu virus did not keep us down. Not when there is Gin and Tonic, bought at “I Love Liqour”. Up on the roof at the Clevelander, the darkness was so bright I thought I owned the world. Uh! Ah!

We lived on Ocean Drive. Whereelse, dammmit. In a glorious four star art deco hotel, obviously. At arm’s length was everything. Am I repeating myself? Everything. The beach, the ocean, the speedboats, the parties, Gianni’s mansion, Nikki’s Beach, Clevelander, Fountainbleu, hot and blurry memories. In fact, many of the pictures I find in my phone are tripleX-rated…

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And in the end, a big Cadillac came to pick us up at our hotel in Ocean Drive. We were to be whisked off to luxury incarnated, or Breakers, Palm Beach. Not bad. But that’s a another story alltogether…