When my most favorite little sister-in-law heard we were going to South Beach she actually groaned, you know, over the internet.
You’ve gotta be kidding, right? She said.
And I was all like, hey, hangin’ and clubbin’ with my
homeys, homies, homeies, whatever, could be fun, right?
She groaned again internetally and gave up on me.
But ya know what?
She was wrong.
I flippin’ LOVED South Beach. I don’t know what it was or what it is but there’s a vibe there that just latched onto me and burrowed down deep.
I don’t know if it’s the cool architecture or maybe the singularly individualized lifeguard stands. Or maybe it’s probably all of the above.
‘Cause I mean, honestly?, who does this shit? Looooovvvve it, baby.
And even though we ran smack dab into the middle of southern college spring break (meaning LOTS of blacks that for whatever reason meant LOTS of cops with their cop cars and cop harleys parked militarily perpendicular across from the strip, watching and waiting and I only mention this because of the weird spring break juxtaposition coming up next?) South Beach is still one of the coolest places I’ve ever been.
It’s edgy and retro and waaaay laid back (except for the cops and spring breakers) and it’s all wrapped up in a warm tortilla of misty-eyed want that I need to go back and fondle repeatedly.
South Beach was the only place in our whirlwind Floridaaaayys Tour that I missed as soon as we were leaving.
I didn’t cry but, yeah, I teared up.