It is almost midnight, and my plane is over the bay.
The lights of South Beach are to the right. The Miami skyline is to the left. Underneath us are the mansions of Star Island – P.Diddy’s house – it feels like a shot out of a Pitbull video.
The turbulence was bad. During the worst of it, a woman screamed at her boyfriend: “You are the one who wanted to go on this fucking vacation!” He grumbled. I smirked.
I made it out of the airport1 and now I’m watching the First 48 at mom’s house. The First 48 is a crime reality show based on homicide units.
This episode features a murder that happened a quarter mile away from my mother’s apartment in Overtown, my high school’s neighborhood. Part of the episode shows a candlelight vigil for the victim. I recognize people from my high school.
Overtown’s crackhouses, projects, and the vigil2 are in the shadow of shiny new skyscrapers, and only a quarter mile from the man-made islands, yachts, and mansions.
Poverty, wealth, and camera crews. It’s good to be home.
1 The airport was renovated since I my last trip.
2 In Overtown.
No Comments