Tuesday, May 27, 2008

I reminisce for a spell, or shall I say think back...

Growing up in Miami you encounter a lot of flotsam.  This nonstop playground had an incredibly transient nature to it.  People from all over the world and all walks of life flocked to it seeking a taste of its foretold treasures.  One particular piece of debris I had the pleasure of encountering was a towheaded Englishman stuck in our sub-tropic land.  His holiday excursion turned into an illegal residence due to a combination of feminine wiles and insufficient funds.  Trapped in a cage of his own devising, he slept on his girl's couch while working under the table Mexican style jobs.  I first met him at a local pool hall I worked at.  He was inebriated, as were most of our patrons, dipping frequently into the well whiskey affectionately referred to as rotgut.  Being the Londoner he was, walking long distances in this state was not uncommon.  What he failed to realize was that it was exceedingly dangerous in this new land.  If it wasn't the pedestrian unfriendly neighborhood designs, it was the bevy of unsavory characters waiting to exploit debilitated people wandering around in the AM's.  After relaying to me a tale in which he was almost "cruised" the last time he staggered home, I offered to give him a ride.  Chatting while driving we became fast friends.

At the time his circle of friends was limited to the girl who's couch he surfed, her mom, and the guys at his short order cook gig.  With me as his guide, we dived into the late 90's South Florida club scene.  The Brit and the Cuban were an interesting pair trying out our tricks on an unsuspecting populace.  His bowler hat and accent, my club kid clothes and piercing's.  The surreal nature of our nights often extended past our obvious juxtaposition.  Drug dealers with Dalmatian seat cover pimp suits, nymphomaniac Nicaraguan sisters, more lesbians than you can shake a stick at.  Our drunken mood altered evenings were memorable to say the least.  Even when the clubs grew stale we continued exploring the nooks and crannies of the nightlife.  A country dive bar hidden in a strip mall was a frequent resting place along with the adventure starting pool hall.  Sometimes we'd gather other soldiers attacking late night eateries with ravenous hunger and painfully inappropriate conversation laced with chocolate chip pancakes.  Our friendship began to fade as his attachment to the owner of the couch increased.  The proverbial on again/off again relationship, he eventually got sucked into it full force.

The last I heard of him he was getting engaged to that girl.  Perhaps it was a ploy to remain legitimately in the country?  Maybe he was truly ensnared by her charms?  Either way he floated out of my life the same way he had washed up, slowly and quietly another piece of jetsam in the turbulent Miami seas.

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