redux: 6am, 30 September 2007

My sister and I go dancing in Miami, two instead of three, us instead of we. Her departure is imminent; neither of us know. When the lights come on at 5am, everyone in the club becomes suddenly uglier. The bodies dancing in the dark grow faces, chiseled jawlines and beautiful silhouettes giving way to idiot words and various nervosas. We now see who was on what for how long and how strong; my sister and I become better looking.

We drive to South Beach to celebrate with pancakes:

At the booth behind us sit two large men, and it is impossible to discern whether they are siblings or lovers. Either way, there is a special intimacy as one berates the other. The hamburger sitting in front of the aggressor grows cold; eventually his performance causes the whole row of tables to shake:

(my sister turns around)

"Watch it buddy."

(the man jumps up)

"What the f_ck? What the f_ck?"

(my sister is from Baltimore)

"You're bangin' the table."

(bulging waistband implies gun)

"What the f_ck?"

(my sister is from Baltimore)

"[silence]"

(three men at corner booth stand up)

"Is there a problem here?"

(man turns to face three men)

"What the f_uck?"

(three men step forward)

"Is there a problem here?"

(lover/brother stands)

"What the f_uck?"

(three men in unison)

"We from New York."

(man steps forward)

"What the f_ck we care 'bout New York? "

(lover/brother steps forward)

"We from Camden."

[lapse]

We ask for our tab and leave for home, while unknown rappers exchange numbers in the corner booth of the café. Six months later my sister is gone.