I am not one for shorts. My legs are too thin for my body type. It shouldn't matter, I am deadly handsome with a two-thousand dollar smile. (Bares them fangs.)
But Miami is shorts-weather, and accepts no substitutes. Short pants? She says "nay". Capris? Those are the same.
She was good to me once, Miami was. It was a long trip through a small state and I found her again, tanning and sipping pink chemicals through a straw. And she sat up to greet me. To give me a mission. A dare: I bet you won't.
Miami likes scary movies before bed, but only the first eight minutes. She knows what happens when the lights go out. And then what happens when the sun comes up.
I brush my teeth with toothpaste on a middle finger and greet her "good day" with lips and tongue: I would have kissed you anyway.
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