Tuesday Night
When I boarded the plane, I noticed how close all the rows were; how all the seats looked so sad and blue, cracked and stretched under the weight of obese businessmen. All the passengers were told to “power down all electronics,” but I kept listening to my music and smiled at the steward and stewardess. It was a two and a half an hour flight, and I wished it would have passed sooner, but alas, I was in the seat next to the aisle and I could hardly lull to any meditative state being a second-time flier. I managed to pass the time interpolating Daft Punk and Animal Collective and then switching over to pure jazz when there was an hour left in the flight. I was never offered a drink, but I could tell that an airline that had crumbs in the cracks of its seats would not host any hospitality in its definition of a steward–how quant. Sooner or later, the plane landed and I got off. When I stepped into the Fort Lauderdale Airport, I felt that I was stepping into a 1970’s cop film. Bright, multi-colored neon shaped covered the walls, which were painted in something of a Rugrat’s cartoon fashion. After eyeing the terminal liquor store for its severely overpriced alcohol, I went outside and finally called the rest of my family to tell them I was waiting. The said they were five minutes away and had a sandwich for me. Different from O’Hare International, there was no designation for driving around the airport and cabs, buses, minivans, SUVs, and a plethora of other vehicles slushed through the wrap-around drive-thru. Random spurts of reggae and dancehall passed and stopped, and around me were many cigarette smokers who seemed too lazy to do anything else but smoke. When my family finally got there, they were too hysterical to be of any good to me. And I had to distinguish between truths and lies of what they had done or intended to do. It was very difficult. That night, I ate and then situated my clothes and toiletries. It was not a night to start any festivities; the flight had exhausted me.

Wednesday Morning
Driving around Florida at night is very different from the day. At night, you cannot see anything beyond the strip of cuban restaurants and random shops that support the native population. There are open tourist traps like ice cream parlors that stay open late, there are barely any bars, but restaurants that serve severely overpriced alcohol. We will see that this is a re-occuring theme in Southern Florida. But driving during the day is really quite a marvel. Florida spends its money road construction. While you can go in any direction on the highways already, Florida is building more ramps and twists and turns, and the roads are absolutely deserted. Between four lanes, you can weave in and out, most ideal for a motorcyclist on a sunny, warm weekday to get to work. I did actually see a man in a business suit on a Harley this morning. High palm trees reach up on the sides and you can see the pastel colors of houses and businesses. You can also see how far Miami sprawls out; the little neighborhoods that under look the giant condominium structures miles to their east, the quant churches far down the road from hot clubs. On certain exists you can see hundreds of tourists visiting and inhabiting a strip and then an exit, blocks down, where there is a park with maybe 5 local children and the scene looks more depraved than the south side of Chicago. Miami is just a juxtaposition of a population who lives there and a population who wants to live there. After pulling into the already-flooded (because of high-tide) South Beach, we decided on a nice cuban-themed breakfast cafe. It was outdoor seating for the most part, and birds populated the trees above us. Their droppings spread all over the ground. It was hard to ignore and feel ease. Anyways, we ate and again my family was hysterical for the most part, but that was fine. I tend to as well, as I lost more and more of my well-defined and meditated identity as my childhood began to resurface in the presence of my siblings.
Wednesday Mid-day
After the breakfast, my family collected to the car to go to the beach at the end of the sidewalk. We all walked out and then my oldest brother left without a word and my sister and I obtained thirty dollars to purchase sunglasses and sandals for myself. My sister and I walked immediately a block into the strip and I told her I wanted to find little Havana. After some blocks we decided it was probably inland and we decided to find a bar. After walking past, probably the most well-known, we were given a hand out that said 2 x 1 drinks and we thought that looked good, so we sat down at the bar next to it. My first drink was a Miami Vice which is a Strawberry Daiquiri with a Pina Colada, and my sisters was a Bulldog which is a Margarita with two Corona’s planted top down in it. They tasted mildly alcoholic, but they were massive. My drink was utterly frozen for at least half an hour and I drank fast so my sister and I finished around the same time. We called my oldest brother to meet us and around the time we finished, he came from down the beach strip. We thought he might be at another bar, but he was talking to people at a large hangout spot on the beach. He also ordered a Bulldog and my sister and I ordered Corona’s. The lime was implied, but I also poured salt in mine after I learned of salt in Mexican Cervezas from a friend of mine. After talking about basketball players, our collective childhood, and fending off our mother’s texts for a while, we called my other older brother to join us. We wagered if he would show or not and he eventually did. My sister and I had two more Corona’s and my older brother had a Bulldog and my oldest brother had another Bulldog. After my older brother finished his first Bulldog, we decided one more drink, and he got a shot called ‘Surfer on Acid,’ which we all sipped and only I thought was good. And for three hours we talked and got back to our roots as siblings and then eventually decided that leaving would be best for our youngest brother and our lingering parents. We asked for the check and after gratuity, already added, the bill came out to over $200 dollars. We were all astonished, but we were on vacation damn it. My sister paid.
The rest of my vacation is not particularly worth talking about, I spent Thanksgiving hiding from senior citizens and our car ran out of gas in the middle of a panther conservatory, Friday I tried to drink again but had little opportunity at Fort Lauderdale beach. We drove back on Saturday and I had Low Country Shrimp Boil with my cousins in South Carolina. I drove back with my family which stretched my tensions.

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