Our LegalArt residency is in an area of downtown that is deserted for five days a week, then comes alive on the weekends with clubbers coming and going at all hours. Last night I trekked up to Fort Lauderdale for a Sound Art exhibit in their gallery district. Rumpus poetry editor Brian Spears hosted me with his lovely wife, Amy Letter. Beers were had; laughter was loud. I got home around 1 AM and promptly fell asleep to the lullaby of booming bass from cars as they parked in the lot across the street. People were getting out of their SUVs with beers already in hand.
Around 5 AM I woke up to a lot of "Wooooo." "Wooooo, you can do it! Yeah! Yeah!" This is nothing unusual--ravers emerge from the night before as late as 2 or 3 PM the next day. I went back to sleep.
Around 6 AM I woke again, this time with the glow of sunrise on my face. "Wooooo! You can do it!" A wail of sirens, also nothing unusual. I pondered whether this was a sign I should get up and do work. I went back to sleep.
Fifteen minutes later a resurgence of cheering and two, maybe three more wailing police cars woke me up again. A raid? I thought hazily. Would not have been the first.
Around 9 AM I woke up and they were going full tilt--"Wooooo, you can do it! Yeah!" Jesus, I thought. What the hell are these kids rolling on? I got up and tottered grumpily to my blind-free windows, and looked out.
There was a marathon running up North Miami Avenue.
Ah, Miami. I'll miss you during the next week, when I return to DC for AWP. But I have also missed the ambient noise of home--the bells of the National Cathedral.