I am all alone this time around?
OK. I was at South Beach today, and I was like. woah. THIS is the part of Miami that writers illustrate in their "readable tour guides" isn't it? The lights, the people on the streets, the funky restaraunts, the clubs... the sandy beaches... THIS is what people come for..
But the books don't tell about a woman who sets up a blanket to sleep in the corner of lincoln road and 17th. They don't tell of a man who walks around the beach with a huge sign, a long beard, and a near-empty can of pennies and nickles. They don't tell of a rural area that is just beyond the highway; where crimes are commited, and where the cops try to conceal the "ghetto" of Miami. The books fail to retell the stories of endless fights, spilled blood, tears shed and yelling on both the beaches and the streets of rural Miami.
Same goes for people. People look at you.. you've got peircings, a mohawk, a big belly, small boobs... you're weird. you're ugly. you're fat. but what else? They don't see everything that goes on behind your plain brown eyes.. or your beautiful blue eyes. They can't see your personality through your curly blonde hair, or boring straight brown hair... they can't tell where you have been by looking at your pink nail polish, your gelled up hair, your lip peircing... They don't see the thoughts you posess... they don't seize those moments in time in which you find yourself completely hopeless.. and helpless... and friendless.. they don't seem to register that something else is going on in someone else's life.. that there is another eternity in their mist, that it's just not theirs.
damn tourists.