Thursday, March 19, 2009


It's funny you're in Miami. My ex's Bubby lives there, as does her ass of an uncle. As a result, I saw very little of the city, occupied instead by obligatory family gatherings and limited mobility.
When I think of Miami I think of the smell of the ocean, and of sitting on the high-rise balcony of Bubby's apt. drinking wine and smoking a cigarette, looking out across to Miami Beach at night, two red beacon dotting the water, calling in syncopated time,
I hope you're having fun.
Chicago's flirtation with warmer weather lasted a glorious 28 hours, at which time the winds took up, and it got damp, and cold--especially as we were all in tee-shirts and desperate expectations. That is: you missed nothing.

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