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Published on March 6th, 2012 | by gatsbyadmin

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A Gonzo trip in Miami…..

The rental car experience should have tipped me off……”You need to be more tranquillo amigo” was what the gentleman told me as he slowly slithered over the car like a slug and approved it for me to take on the rally course called “Miami.” He looked at me like a Vampire looks at a fresh piece of meat. “You shouldn’t smoke in this one amigo. It will cost your more than filling up the tank.” He didn’t know that I come from a place where we shoot gas on the streets for fun…….Aspen.  And how did he know I smoked? Funny how people tag me as a smoker with tattoos and stylish clothes – If they only knew. Now that I was situated with this new bumper car and an insurance policy to send it off the end of the board walk in a heated fit of rage after a long long long night out filling myself with substances, it was finally time to embark on the search for the elusive “South Beach Bitch
“What do you do?” she asked…
“I’m a writer that travels the world” I replied with a GQ smile that 
would make a family in Minnesota fall over….
“Eh…what does he do?” she pointed at the man next to me
“How the fuck should I know?” As I slipped past 
her and farted on her purse rolled in Gucci logos like sprinkles on a kid’s ice cream cone.
I bet I have a better chance in the “Unimportant People” section as I am labeled “VIP” with my wristband of recognition….I tell myself. So past the big gorilla with a mag light and out into the world of the average. The Duck Faces here make me feel like I need to stuff my pants and lie about being “Rockefeller’s nephew from the Oil Days.” I wonder if they even know who Rockefeller is? I should go with the line “Oh have you seen Paris recently? It’s sooo mundane.” That usually gets a foreign girl’s attention, an American girl talking, and assholes within earshot commenting about Paris. That alone will get the hunt for the “South Beach Bitch” underway. A small sacrifice of one’s self-dignity will always work in finding something that has no soul. As I continued my evening with Russian Girl without Job #6 and Swedish girl that loves shitty jokes and doesn’t know English #12 (their titles in the credits for this movie – very very important roles), I felt like the third string ballerina that people look at and comment, “how is that bitch with them?” We enjoyed the morning hour of 4am with some champagne and talked about how the shoes that women wear out will (usually) determine if she can dance, fuck, or hold a conservation. I realized shortly after our research that both of my counterparts were the “dancing type”…..So I decided it was time to find the real pros and get weird. In a bar at 4:30am in Miami you will find one of two creatures:
1)   Something that English is their second language
2)    Something that has assistance in being awake
I speak English just fine…..or I should say, I think I speak English just fine at 4:30am. But I’m not the one that has to decipher and crack the code of slur, mumble, and sighs. The girl at the bar started into the normal sales pitch:
“What do you do?”
“Are you from here?”
“Why are you here?”
“Do you want to go fuck somewhere?”
“Do you have a car?”
WAIT A SECOND….”what did you just ask me?” I interjected.
“Do you have a car?” she sighed..
“Before that one…” I almost shouted.
“Do you want to go fuck somewhere?” she looked interested in my delight
“Sure, I can do that….but who are you? And where are we going?” I had to
have some sort of morals in this situation of complete lack of regard…
right?
“I need something to get my mind off my ex-boyfriend, this roll I’m on, and working tomorrow. You seem fun. Let’s go play ‘fuck the tourist.’” She smiled at the end of that statement like monsters do before they eat their human prey…….
I took a breather and said to myself – “why the fuck not!!”
“Aight let’s play ‘fuck the local’ then,” I whispered  – 
her smiled tilted every so slightly like a leprechaun before it vanishes with the rainbow….
We walked outside and I tried to hale a cab from the wrong direction since my brain was in the gutter and my body felt the same. She put out her lovely glowing hand and the cars slowed down to half speed; a cab appeared from thin air. I was mesmerized by her style……and forgot that it was 4:50am in Miami where vultures wear heels and huge serpents drive Masserati’s.  I was in a cab headed to where ever the hell this woman was taking me. My head started to bobble against the movement of the taxi as we hit turns at mach 90. Once we got to her place, I knew what I was in for. “Campground Apartments – 1 bed & 1 room” is all I could read as I stumbled around the entrance trying to find her and her key. I was walking up the stairs when she said, “You know this isn’t going to be a short go round. I hope you carry dick pills like all the rest.” I looked at the floor as it was staring back at me, “That’s fine by me. I have no where to be till 11am.” We walked into the 1 room with 1 bed and it felt “homey” like a jail cell. I sat down on the 1 bed, 
“How long you been here?”
“You mean this place or Miami?”
“Either I guess.” I was about as smooth as sand paper at this point.
“8 years at the Beach and 3 months in this Château de Sand” she had that smile 
tilted again like she was about to feast on my carcass.
As the morning unfolded and we tossed each other around like drunken naked midgets in the sunrise, I felt complete. I felt like something had finally happen to make me realize that life is more than an evening out in a new town. Life is the satisfaction of experience and interaction. We strive on the unusual, weird, and grimey. We thrive like a weed in the sidewalk that you try to kick when walking pass. We’re the gum that you feel under the table…..
I awoke to an unfamiliar feeling on my cheek. I went to wipe it off and it was the floor. The sun was blasting in my eyes. The clothes scattered around us like contemporary art for a “what the hell happened?” piece. I got up and started collecting my things. I looked around and realized there wasn’t another life form in the 1 room 1 bed. Just a note on the 1 table that read:
“You can keep my underwear, since you have it on. They have your credit card at the front desk. Maybe one day we’ll bump into each other. Thanks for the new tricks.
Love  always,
South Beach Bitch
I thought something felt a bit snug…..
Back to the place where vultures wear heels and huge serpents drive Masserati’s.


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