We had eaten an excellent dinner to celebrate Hania’s birthday (a few weeks late), and strolled Collins Avenue, walking into the Delano and the Raleigh (the now and then of South Beach hotels). We had admired the pastries in the Italian bakery on the west side of the street, and we’d seen a woman in a black bikini drinking beer from a bottle and using a trash receptacle to support herself.
Now we were in the car, driving the street we had just walked. “Those women are looking at a rat,” Hania said with delight. The traffic was bumper to bumper, so I turned my head to see if I could catch a glimpse, but the rodent had disappeared. Then, all of a sudden, it crept out again – long and furry – and scurried up Collins unperturbed by the crowds.
