Day Seventy: Back to South Beach

I’m back. I am staying at the Surfcomber tonight.  The Raleigh was booked, just like every other hotel in Miami.  The guidos and guidettes of the county are flooding Miami this weekend for Ultra, a music festival. It’s a lot of techno, which draws a certain breed.  I had no idea until yesterday that this was going on. 

I arrive in South Beach.  As the taxi turns onto Collins Ave, I see girls with fake breast in bikinis and high heels.  The guys flaunt their muscles and have excessive amounts of gel in their hair.  GTL.

They are all walking in the same direction.  Where are they all going?  My hotel.  There is a huge pool party here this afternoon.

I throw my stuff in the room and check out the scene.  I have arrived on another planet.  It’s spring break on amphetamines.  I walk through the pool area and head to the beach.

I take a jog on the boardwalk.  It feels like I was here just a week ago.  Lyla is missing though.   I took her on this run every morning the last time I was here.

I visit Sammy at the Royal and chat with Luis at the bar.  He shows me the new cocktail list. I say hi to everyone. “Where is the little one?” they asks, referring to Lyla.  It’s really not the same without her.  I can’t wait to see her on Sunday. 

My brother, Matt, is in Miami with some friends until Tuesday.  Jordan, Gary, Adam and Matt come by the Royal to scoop me up and we head to Lincoln Road for dinner.  Our waiter brings our pizza.  We’re laughing and eating when Dennis Rodman walks by.  We turn and look at him.  He stops in his tracks, waves to us and pulls up a chair.   “Dennis Rodman, hey man,” Jordan says.  Adam laughs with a look of disbelief. 

Dennis’s posse tonight consists of two women, presumably hookers, and another unnoteworthy man.  Dennis looks horrible.  His skin is a disaster, his lips look like they are about to fall off. 

He sits behind Jordan and rubs his back.  Jordan is visibly uncomfortable.  Dennis is clearly on some drug, or perhaps many.  After a short conversation and repeating how much he likes Jordan a few times, Dennis bids us farewell.  He shakes Adam and Jordan’s hands and continues on his way, posse in tow.

“That was weird,” Gary says.  We all nod and agree.  

“I don’t want to think about where that hand has been,” Adam explains as he excuses himself to go wash his hands.

“I’ve read all of his books,” Matt tells us.  I remember seeing the Dennis Rodman books on my brother’s desk when we were in middle school.  Matt notes that Dennis was a legend in rebounding and gives us a short biography of the basketball star.  “He was always a weird guy,” my brother explains.

It was sad too see how low the former star had fallen.  He has lost himself.  

We finish our meal before I bid the boys a goodnight and catch up on sleep.