I've been very unmotivated to write anything lately, and that includes blogs, articles, concert reviews, e-mails, love letters...you name it, I haven't written it. But, as the time for sleep approaches--or, more accurately, as the time for sleep wishes to approach, yet I ignore its beckon--the environment is right for creativity.
As always, there are an overwhelming number of things that I would like to accomplish with this posting, but, as always, I will probably fail amidst a vast web of directionlessness and staid motifs. All the while, hopefully, my body will lose charge like a cell phone that's been on standby for far too long. However, despite my inability to convey things of import, there are interesting tidbits that are worth mentioning: I spent yesterday, for instance, in Miami, crusing with the top down on a chrysler crossfire in the 95 degree sun, doing 100 on the highway from a podunk reservation west of the city to south beach. Neil young on the stereo and sunglasses protecting quarter-size pockets of skin under my eyes from a tan, I realized how lucky I was to not be in NY, where rumor had it the weather was hovering around 50, with a steady flow of rain. While the purpose of my trip was confidential, suffice it to say that there are a few Miamians whose kids will never be the same.
Once in South Beach (and, just for clarity, I will not discuss anything but my Miami trip from here on out; the promise of "interesting tidbits" was a dirty, perverted lie), my associate and I parked our beautiful baby blue convertible in a shopping center lot, and left for 20 minutes to grab a bit to eat. Upon returning, we found that every parking space in the 30-car capacity complex was empty, whereas, only 20 minutes prior, all the slots had been carred.
We found that the owner of Dunkin Donuts--a sad, sad propietor who should encounter nothing but snake bites and open sores the rest of his life--makes a practice of spying on the cars that pull into his lot; those that enter his store or another establishment on the premises may stay, while those who venture off are towed at once. In fact, the cabbie who drove us to the impound lot told us that the owner splits profits with the towing company, and keeps a BC radio on his person at all times, so that he can order a car towed by the waiting trucks, which we saw idling just around the corner from the parking lot.
So, after paying 180 dollars (well, my boss paid, but there's no need to be picayune), we were off to the beach, where the water was glorious and the unintentional Flava-Fav impersonators were plentiful. The flight back was uneventful, save for playoff baseball and a the largest crossword puzzle I've ever seen (131 across and 127 down, I think), and the ride home from the airport was comfortingly pre-arranged.
The point of all this? Never, ever, ever park your car in South Beach on the corner of Aston and 15th in the Dunkin Donuts parking lot.
Stay impounded every car in Florida,