- by Mykel Board
3, 2013- October 6, 2013
- Recap: From the start, it didn't look good for this trip. Everything went right... a bad sign. Subletter in New York, smooth flight to Miami, promises of “meet you at the airport/seaport” for the whole trip. $10 a night accommodations in Guyana, the rest free.
- Uh oh! Too good. The better the news the bigger the fall. And things get worse. The plan is to stay at the Hollywood (FLA not LA) home of my long-term friend and sometimes partner in crime Sharon I. (Now Sharon G, as she's been ringed!)
- After I leaving the plane in Miami, I rent a car for a day and drive to her gated place. There's an electronic directory. I punch her number. No answer. Finally, here it comes... I sleep in the street tonight, or cut into my exceedingly slim budget.
- A car pulls up in back of me. The gate opens. Both of us cruise through. Sharon is home and welcomes me with a great hug and a beer. What else could you want? (Come on... she's married!)
- The next morning is hell rain. The pool looks like it's gonna flood. We take a ride to pick up Sharon's dogs. Then we head for breakfast. On the road, the lights go out... all of 'em. It's a torrent. No plane could take off in this. I'll be stuck here for 7 weeks. Here it comes...
- But it doesn't. We get to the restaurant. They tell us which food cooks with gas, which with electricity. They'll serve us the gas, as long as we pay cash because the credit card machines don't work. And don't worry, there's still some (fairly) hot coffee left. No problem.
- Worse than that, within ten minutes of our egg arrival... the power's back up, and annoying TVs are blasting sports news that neither of us gives a shit about. The rain doesn't let up, though... torrents... a Niagra... and we have to slosh our way back through the security gates.
- Dinner plans are with Sharon's friend, Margaret. She's an original South Floridian, and a veteran of Florida's punk rock scene... and she's had enough bad luck to warrant a lifetime of future fortune.
- Margaret's story: Her mother's gotbrain cancer. Margaret takes care of her as she slowly succumbs. She'd just gotten married to a scenester from Florida, and this was supposed to be a happy time in her life. Yet she watches her mother slowly dissolve into death. It takes half a year.
- As if to ice the death cake, her pet finch dies a month later.
- Enough? Nope... by the end of the NEXT six months, her new hubby buys the farm. Cancer again. See what I mean?
- Sharon's plan is to take her out, bring her to her old haunts, get her back in the swing. She's up for going out come hell (unsure) or high water (here right now: Looking out the window, through the monsoon, I can Noah working on the nailing together some wood. Animals are lining up, two by two. )
- “Are you sure you want to go out in this?” I ask her.
- She nods.
- “Mykel,” she says, “Margaret wants to meet you. She knows the city. And we need to get her out of her depression”
- Ok. I've got a rain coat. Let's go.
- It's hard to describe wading through the city. The streets fill with water. Half the streets are shin deep and it doesn't look to be letting up soon. Sharon Margaret and I-- none of whom rank high in the vertical department, wade from one bar to another. Sometimes, we back track and try another crossing because the streets are too filled to ford.
- Everything works out. Not smooth, but the
problems: a minor sexy scratch on a perfect eyebrow. Shit, what kind
of horror does this luck bode for the future? Stay tuned.
- (more soon...
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