lA Typical Saturday Summer Afternoon

It WAS a lovely day, although we all knew about tropical depression, Alberto. Nevertheless, I went for a swim in the brilliant sky of an afternoon in Miami and patted myself off. Within fifteen minutes there was the "kerplunk" of a massive power failure and all was dead for several minutes. I had to make my way to The Palace under such threatening circumstances. I ran out of La Casa and looked south to see Carl Fisher's famous landmark office (one block away) surrounded by purple clouds. I hopped in a taxi and called everyone. Jeremy was "...on the way", Mark, "...looking for parking", Brian, "...almost there." I looked around. People were covering their hair, grabbing their poodles and running, screaming for a cab, and holding down their pleated skirts in the ferocious wind that preceeds a storm. And, those where just the men.

At The Palace, along with a big crowd, were Lorraine and Colin a London couple who visit quite often and were here again for sixteen days. They hang out with Ditmar and go every night with him to area clubs. They seem to have so much fun.

I DON"T KNOW WHY, but The Palace runs out of KettleOne very often. I don't intrude upon ordering, and I don't interfer with the owner's dictates about not ordering such goods, But IF a regular--and I mean Jeremy, Mark, Brian, et al...--shows me credit card statement of expenditures at The Palace of $800 to $1,000 a month, I would fucking make sure a representative of KettleOne licked their balls every night they came in. Call me Old Fashioned. (I asked Lorraine to pose for this shot; it was the last bottle of Kettle and had to be brought in special.)

The soccer game (between Argentina and who-cared-less) was being played in every room and I spotted this group of lesbians from BA and Brasil cheering wildly.

In the end, WHAT CAN I SAY. "Brian's Angels"? "Superfly 4"? "Starbooty, The Off-White Version?" I love this town.