It’s that time of the year my fellow Miami sapiens.
It’s finally humid in Miami. Two days ago was the first rain I remember in over a month. And then even the rainfall a month ago was sparse, quick, and light.
It’s that time of the year when tourists are becoming more scarce after the painful entourage of middle America university students on spring break. Also gone, or leaving soon, are the snowbirds and those lucky few who spend part of the year in San Diego or New York and part of it here.
It’s that time of the year that women’s mascara runs down their face as if they were a character in Stanley Kubrick’s Clockwork Orange.
It’s that time of the year when walking outside means stepping into an au natural gratis spa.
It’s that time of the year when an indulgence means turning on the air conditioner.
It’s that time of the year when finding your roommate doing the dishes in a bikini or boxers (or perhaps even naked) is perceived an apt behavior as a result of problem-solving.
It’s the time of the year when it will start raining in sporadic places incessantly.
People will congregate and lay like lazy sea lions on the imported Miami Beach sands and scurry like ants underneath sea oats for shelter when the dark clouds encroach upon the shore.
I love this time of year.