Yesterday I took Lyft to my doctor’s office and on the way there I reminisced with my Turkish driver about my trip to his country in 1997 and on the way home I heard from my Syrian driver about his forced exile from his homeland. As we entered River Reach, I pointed out the boat-lined canals that make it an island.
“Do you have a boat?” he asked me.
“No,” I said. “I’m a writer. I don’t have the money.”
He asked me if I’d read Noam Chomsky.
Later it occurred to me that if I can’t travel abroad this summer I could just ride Lyft around town.
Even before the spring break ruckus I had limited my visits to Miami Beach. But now I want to return, at least to Arthur Godfrey Road. Apparently grackles have built nests in the palm trees along the street and, to protect their young, are attacking people on the sidewalk. The city, in an effort to end this aerial assault, has hired a master falconer whose hybrid falcon Chop, by his mere presence, discourages the birds from coming near people. The street has long been visually interesting with its Orthodox families in traditional dress; the addition of a falconer must make it positively exotic.
More than 80 firearms have been taken from the spring breakers in Miami Beach this month. And Fort Lauderdale thought it had a problem with spring breakers in the '80s.
Drove down Las Olas to A1A yesterday evening for the annual convergence of spring break and St. Patrick’s Day, and got one picture: A man in a shaggy green wig and a dyed green beard who wore a thick scarf of beaded necklaces and a clownishly wide tie that read: “Kiss me I’m Irish.” The only off note was the cellphone replacing the beer in his hand.
Walking through a parking lot yesterday I came across a van that had two stickers on its back windows. One read: "Trump - Keep America Great." The other read: "I'm the Proud Parent of a Gay Son."
Heritage doesn’t advertise Italian home-cooking but it has something else I remember from the homes of my Italian friends back in ’50s New Jersey. On a narrow wall by the kitchen hang three small paintings: one of Mary, one of Jesus, and one of Padre Pio. They give that buzzy room with its sophisticated diners a sweet and unexpected touch.