Miami - Smells like Swiss Cheese.
Miami Travel Blog› entry 12 of 16 › view all entries
The sun rose over South Beach on a picturesque morning in Jazz, but went largely un-noticed by the majority of the residents in room 1E, who were engrossed in an impromptu under-arm farting competition between myself and Dylan. After an intense and well fought contest, Dylan eventually let common sense prevail and conceded defeat; my victory lap only tainted by a Togolese man who was half-asleep, rolling over and exposing himself whilst what appeared to be mid wet-dream. Never fails to please. After the excitement of the previous night, people were coming to terms with the day that lay ahead when Steve suggested a Subway in town.
The resulting fast-food didn't have the effect many of the group desired, and as we head towards the beach, no-one even batted an eye-lid when an extraordinarily beautiful woman sauntered past.
Awaiting us were Karim Slimane and Matthew Mitchell, two lads from Leeds, who’d arrived in Miami via Southeast Asia and the rest of the USA. After I’d been castigated for wearing a red shirt which apparently made me look like I was employed by Pizza Hut, that night we cruised to The Clevelander, situated at the heart of Ocean Drive. Following on from the previous evening, Kevin hadn’t spoken to Denmark all day, and unsurprisingly she wasn’t in attendance. Not that Kev, or any of the rest of us realised as we were thrust into the midpoint of the dancefloor.
The next day, I woke a little earlier than usual, at 5am approximately, to find the rest of the dorm in slumber.
After the Togolese warrior had stood and watched Kev go to the toilet, we grabbed some food and went shopping, where I purchased shoes that were pointier than James Wilson’s eyebrows.
That night, dressed appropriately for the first time on the trip, we wound up in a classy house-music based nightclub. Lapping up the euphoric music, myself Karim and Matt could not have been in sharper contrast to Kev who stood flat-footed and without expression. That was until a group of girls appeared with, what appeared to be their pimp, and Kev invited himself up onto the podium. My gyration was momentarily interrupted by one of the aforementioned dancers standing on my hand at the bar, however I quickly returned to strutting about with the Tokyo Breakdancing Confederation. Matt meanwhile, had met a girl from Geneva, and was discussing the merits of being English whilst Kev was telling anyone who’d listen that he introduced them to one another, and someone was hollering ‘SHE SMELLS LIKE SWISS CHEESE’ in her ear. After some Mexican girls had finished shouting ‘little bird’ in Mexican at Karim we realised we’d lost Kev. It turns out our young man had had enough of the music, and in his infinite wisdom, had chosen to walk home on his own, drunk, through one of the most dangerous cities in eastern America. The next morning we were relieved to hear that two girls had pulled over whilst driving past, frisked him, strangely found time to get with him, and drop him back at the hostel.
What’s that Shona Sim? Never talk to strangers? What the ones, that are FEMALE, HOT, GET WITH YOU, AND THEN DROP YOU HOME, SAVING YOU A 40 MINUTE WALK OR 20 DOLLAR TAXI?! Sure, I’ll make sure I bloody ignore them.