Call A Cab

I had a blast last night. It was the sort of night were one just lets go, forgets all of the things that often time weight one down and just has fun. It all started in Coconut Grove where I was supposed to watch a movie. (“Supposed” by the way, is the operative word of that last sentence.) They of course weren’t showing the film I intended to watch and so I resorted to a quick stop at Wet Willies, which is a chain of bars that have an assortment of alcoholic frozen drinks that will immediately put you well above the DUI limit. I had one of their novelty choices of liquid crack called, “Call-A-Cab.” Wow! It was the equivalent of taking the little blue pill in the Matrix. Inhibition and prohibition flew out the door. After which, I took the back exit to South Beach. There I found a liquor store that provided the bottle of Malibu that was downed with soda near the shore and another Wet Willies on Ocean Drive’s strip not far from that five dollar margarita place that was just a few minuets away from that other bar with the strippers. Between all of those drinks were continuous pissing, loud moments, whispered ones, blushed cheeks, red eyes, fountains in courtyards, empanadas, blurry pictures, lost sense of direction, overcrowding, overbooking, bartenders, old friends and new ones:

Amalia (ca va, mon ami), Tony (great drinks), Hiro (Domo Arigato, NY wa do desu ka?) Italian guy (Ciao! como stai? Que cosa fai di nuovo?) Manny (Dimelo Bro)

The last hour of the night is unaccounted for. Based on eye witness accounts I have determined that I was dropped off at home sometime between 6 and 630 a.m. where after buzzing the door bell a few times, I walked past my mother and went right to bed.

See? I told you that it was that kind of a night.