It has been a quiet week, to be sure; but we did have one "outing" that was memorable. On Tuesday night, we met up with the infamous Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish and two Southern belles at Score. The two belles have relocated from a grand, Southern estate outside Nashville, set up house, and maintain a most respectable presence here. (Don't quote me, but the jewelry worn by one of them could display in a room of The Smithsonian.) Unfortunately, no one bothered to note to them that Miami Beach is not The South; it is the sixth borough of New York City. They are so gracious that you just have to weep; they don't deserve what they have wrought.

Today there was the Biblical storm often predicted: four hours of horrendous, waves of rain. Fortunately I was trapped at Twist with several of the Cognoscenti which knows when to abandon the home early and go to a bar. When the rain stopped, I foolishly tried to bike home with water over the wheels of my bike and cars floating in the over-crowed streets. It was a nightmare that I immediately awoke from when I glided into Score, which was brushing out three inches of rain from their club.

When I did arrive (with a fresh suit of clothing) at Score, again, I ran into the infamous Thomas Barker. With all that has happened in the last year, we had become distant from the fanatic friendship we enjoyed in The Glory Days. No matter, we went right on with the avalanche of gossip and nonsense that always bonded us. We have all gone through a lot, but I bow to Mr. Thomas Barker; he saves the soul of this nonsensical, guilt-ridden town in his paper, The Wire.