The City of Miami unveiled a new flag for its historic Little Havana neighborhood that consists of a large cock atop melted Cuban and American flags while surrounded by 20 other flags. What?Miami Commissioner Joe Carollo, who has lived all of his adult life in a multimillion-dollar Coconut Grove home far from Calle Ocho, designed the flag himself. For real?
Carollo said he worked with the flag’s artist to carefully craft a banner that is inclusive and that prominently displays the American and Cuban flags. That thing?
There is even an English language copy of Carollo’s flag design which most people likened to an overly busy poster designed by someone who would believe that graphic design is my passion. Wow

Four of the five Miami Commissioners appeared on stage to reveal the flag alongside Miami-Dade County’s Mayor who appeared with the City of Miami’s Mayor even though the two men are bitter political enemies. So it is real?
The City of Miami’s official social media promoted the flag unveiling event in a tweet which promptly got ratioed heavily by a mix of local residents bemoaning Carollo’s design and hardcore communists promoting Fidel Castro. I don’t want to live in this world anymore.
“How apropos.” Local film director and ignored voice of reason Billy Corben tweeted: “Miami politics is just a big dumb crooked cockfight.” You think he’ll retweet us? I need a few bucks.

By Grant Sterns

Wearing a light jacket and a really cute knitted beanie she’s had since high school, Jessica Rodriguez stepped out of her Downtown Miami office, took a deep breath of the cool air, and for a moment was able to put the fact that the world is so damn awful outside of her mind. “The weather is so nice today,” said the young architect to herself just before an elderly man screamed at the second-generation Cuban-American to go back to Mexico.

Brushing off the vituperative stranger and trying to ignore the increasingly contentious state of international affairs, Ms. Rodriguez walked a few blocks to her favorite local cafe for a hot chocolate, but it had closed down. “Commercial rent increases really do make it difficult for mom and pop stores to stick around,” she thought to herself before remembering the weather. There was an Au Ban Pan several blocks away so she headed there instead.

“One soy hot chocolate, please”, said a smiling Jessica to a 35-year-old barista who rang her up but otherwise refused to acknowledge her existence. Undeterred, Jessica swiped her card and flashed the barista a kind smile. “Yo, you need to insert the chip,” said the barista curtly in response. “Oh, of course,” Jessica responded as she inserted the stupid chip. After she paid she gave the barista a $2 tip. “He needs it more than me,” she thought to herself and then waited 15 minutes for her drink to arrive. 

As she walked back into the pleasant outdoor breeze, Jessica sipped her hot chocolate and realized it was not made with soy after all. She briefly considered asking for a new cup, but thought better of it because diarrhea can be nice sometimes and she really didn’t want to have another rude interaction with that barista. The hot chocolate was delicious though.

As Jessica enjoyed the walk back to her office she scrolled through her Newsfeed and was almost hit by a car only twice. She was very happy to have had her headphones in so she could ignore the homeless people who begged her for money. Pretending not to hear or see them, she inadvertently made eye contact with a man with literally no nose who held a sign identifying himself as “Cancer Dan.” “Well, at least he get to be outside on this gorgeous day,” she told herself as she tucked her purse under her arm and looked down at the sidewalk as she passed Cancer Dan, who clicked his tongue at her and slurred something about her pussy as she walked by him.

After several minutes of walking around the City with her head in her phone, she noticed her stomach beginning to rumble. She assumed the consternation was due to the whole-milk hot chocolate, but perhaps exasperated by constantly being aware that the world seems to be ending. 

Jogging desperately toward a McDonald’s to use a bathroom, she was told by another old man to get out of the Country. When she finally made it to the McDonald’s it was filled with dozens of black teenagers. “They really shouldn’t be eating this crap,” she told herself as she limped toward the bathroom. There were three teenage girls waiting in line ahead of her, each casually staring at their phone and occasionally taking Snaps and playing with the filters. “Am I too old to use Snapchat?” she asked herself.

It took about 10 minutes for the girls ahead of her to cycle through. When she finally arrived inside the bathroom and depants she pulled out her phone so as to occupy her mind during the act. “Fuck, only 4% battery,” she said to herself but nevertheless started to scroll through her Facebook page anyway.

After several minutes a teenage girl started drumming on the door for her to finish, but she wasn’t close. As she scrolled through her Newsfeed she saw story after story about what was going on with the Trump administration and the people he was picking to help run the Country. “They all look like super villains.” 

The drumming on the door got louder.

“Hey, you taking a shit in there or something? I gotta pee, bitch,” laughed a young voice from outside.

As Jessica strained to finish, she read several more posts about the god awful state of the world, including evidence that Russia was interfering in our elections, how millions were going to lose insurance coverage under the ACA, and that David Bowie was still dead. 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said to herself, farting. “What are we going to do. What are we all going to do?” she cried to herself as her phone finally ran out of battery.

As she sat there in silence, with no distraction, she could hear the girl outside the door making fun of her. “She’s been in there forever. Someone better call the health inspector.”

As she finally finished she wiped and stood up to walk outside. The sink in the bathroom was broken. Typical.

Jessica left the bathroom and passed the group of snickering teenagers.

“Ain’t she going to even wash her hands, damn!” said one to her friends.

As she walked out of the McDonald’s she recoiled from the smell of oily fries and tried to once again put all of the awful things she had been hearing and reading about out of her mind

“Is the world really this bad,” she asked herself. As she stepped outside the nice breeze once again smacked her. “No, it really isn’t that bad,” she thought, readjusted her knitted beanie, and said out loud, “I love Miami in the Winter.”

The Plantain has learned that your office’s annual Thanksgiving potluck lunch will consist of 15 side dishes and not a single god-damn entree, just like last year.”This is a complete disaster,” said Deborah to herself as she placed another bowl of mashed potatoes onto the table. “This party has way too many starches,” she thought as she welcomed Hector from accounting who brought the party’s third bag of tortilla chips.
Office manager James Morales told the Plantain that he feels office parties like the annual Thanksgiving potluck and monthly birthday parties cultivate a familial environment at work. “That’s why people love working here so much. We’re each other’s family — isn’t that right Vanessa?” James called out to his research assistant Vanessa Ireland who hates him.
“How’s everyone liking the food?” James said to a group of employees scooping up various mashed potatoes with tortilla chips. “Where’s the Turkey? How can we have a Thanksgiving potluck without turkey?” James began to complain loudly.
“Hey Deborah, why isn’t there a turkey? Weren’t you going to make one?” James said to Deborah, who was told to organize the party on top of her already busy workload and was now supposed to also cook a full turkey for 20 people too?
“I have to make a turkey next week for Thanksgiving! Why on earth would I cook a full turkey for this stupid party? Who even wants to eat a turkey a week before Thanksgiving? No one even really likes Turkey. This whole party is a disaster. I have a masters degree, what am I doing with myself?” Deborah thought to herself before smiling, apologizing to her boss for some reason, and scooping herself a ladle of cold mashed sweet potatoes.

Seven year old aerospace engineer child Timothy Richardson is very concerned about the plastic frowning ghost decoration in his neighbor’s lawn. “Mommy, did he die?,” the MIT Graduate young boy asked his mother as she secured him into his car seat. “No, of course not sweetheart. Like I told you yesterday, it’s just a bad joke my love. Now sit tight in your big boy chair so we can get you  to school,” said Leslie Richardson before kissing her son for a little too long on his forehead.

Mrs. Richardson, a 38-year-old helicopter mother who runs a popular “Mommy Blog” called “Take the Mommy and Run”, contacted The Plantain’s editor several times last week to express her concern about the emotional impact her neighbor’s Halloween decoration was having on her son. I was sent to investigate.

“When I first saw Timothy cower at the site of that terrible plastic frowning ghost I realized that it was my duty as his mother to protect him from such ghoulish imagery. It is just so cruel how our society treats children around Halloween. Being exposed to ghosts or spider webs is just not good for their mental health,” said  Mrs. Richardson  before adding “It’s a modern day lynching,” a comment she quickly regretted and asked me not to print.

For the last several weeks Mrs. Richardson has been on a crusade to eliminate every ghost, skeleton, and monster from Coral Reef Elementary School where her son teaches attends. “It has been so difficult to get the school to agree to take down all of its Halloween decorations and cancel its annual charity costume contest, but my perseverance paid off.”

“She threatened a lawsuit against me, the School District, and Timothy’s teacher Ms. Monica for intentional infliction of emotional distress,” explained Coral Reef Principal Henry Wilkinson. “We just didn’t think it was worth the fight.” Recognizing her threat may appear drastic to some, Mrs. Richardson justified it as necessary for her child’s protection. “It’s no different than a child with a peanut allergy expecting his school respect his anatomical differences. My son is allergic to scary things.”

This reporter asked Mrs. Richardson to allow Timothy to sit for an interview outside of her supervision, but was denied the request on the basis of Timothy being “a little scared of red heads. You understand.”

Never one to allow a finicky mother to get in the way of my journalistic integrity, I arrived at Coral Reef Elementary to confront Timothy in front of his peers to find out why Halloween decorations scare him so much and what he thought of his mother’s efforts.  As I, a grown and unshaven man, approached the young child sitting alone in the lunchroom we locked eyes. “Hey Timmy, can I ask you a few questions about Halloween?”

“Could you not? I’m- I’m trying to eat my lunch!” shouted Timothy as he ran off into the bathroom to finish his tuna fish sandwich alone in the handicapped stall. Left sitting alone at the undersized lunch table I was approached by an elderly woman who asked, with appropriate suspicion, who I was. “I came here to talk to a young child about his deepest fears,” I told the woman without blinking.

“I think you ought to go,” she said nervously. As I stood up to leave I grabbed the Ziploc bag full of homemade trail mix that Timothy left behind when he ran away from me. There were peanuts in it – a violation of Coral Reef’s snack policy. God, Mrs. Richardson is such a hypocrite.

As I left the lunchroom I noticed the elderly lady that confronted me staring suspiciously while on the phone with someone; likely the police. 

I attempted to reach Mrs. Richardson again for a follow-up interview but was informed by her attorney that any further contact would result in my arrest. As I became more obsessed with the details of this story I disregarded my editor’s advice and drove through the Richardson’s community and noticed it had been ridded of all Halloween decorations, with the exception of the single plastic frowny ghost that still hung from the Richardson’s neighbor’s home.

I approached that home and spoke with its owner Javier Colon. When asked why he had kept the frowny plastic ghost when it looked like all of his neighbors had acquiesced to Mrs. Richardson’s requests, the man seemed confused.  “Who’s Mrs. Richardson?” he asked, explaining that no one had asked him to take down his decorations.

“Your neighbor…Leslie Richardson,” I explained pointing to the Richardson’s home. “She has a son named Timothy. He’s a shy, nervous boy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That home has been empty for years. The family that lived there died 7 years ago. Come to think of it, they died on Halloween.”  

Panic filled my breath and I began recounting the last several days and all of the time I had spent with Mrs. Richardson and Timothy. Had any of that been real? I began to hyperventilate and grasped my head wondering if I had imagined it all or if I had somehow encountered the ghost of a family that died years ago.

“Bro, bro…” interrupted Mr. Colon. “I’m just messing with you, man. The Richardsons live next door. The mother asked me to take down the ghost, but I told her no. That kids got to toughen up.”

I thanked Mr. Colon for his time and walked back to my car. As I was about to drive away I looked up at the Richardson’s second story window and could see Timothy frightfully peering through his curtains and staring at the frowny plastic ghost that, for whatever reason, made him so scared. 

“Mom! The reporter that attacked me at school is outside,” shouted a petrified Timothy to his mother. 

“Get away from the window!” responded Mrs. Richardson as she ran toward the shotgun she kept in her closet.


After a drawn out turf war between the denizens of Brickell and the City, whereby real grass was replaced by fake grass along Brickell Avenue and then replaced again with real grass, Fairchild Tropical Garden in South Miami announced today they would harbor all the newly discarded fake grass from Brickell and cover its gardens with it.”We felt bad for all that fake grass being discarded so soon,” said an 88-year-old Fairchild Garden volunteer named Sue who is just happy to be out of the house. “All of the real plants just keep growing and dying, so why bother?”
Donald Blankership, a retired electrician who spends his afternoons wandering Fairchild’s grounds going out of his way to say hello to visitors, praised the decision to replace all of the real grass with AstroTurf. “We are all about conservation here, and that’s why its so important that we reuse all of that fake greenery.”
The Plantain asked Mr. Blankership whether he thought replacing real grass with fake grass would attract less people to Fairchild, but the 73-year-old native said he didn’t believe so. “People come here all the time to take wedding pictures, and for them, the fake grass looks fine. No one wants to learn about or maintain real plants, and I don’t blame them. Real plants and grass just grow up and die. Like my wife, Eleanor,” said the old man before taking a moment.
“We would have been married 47-years this November. She, she was a really lovely woman. Always a very sweet girl. Anyway, I think replacing the grass is a fine idea. If you’ll excuse me…” Mr. Blankenship then politely walked away, pulling a cloth handkerchief out of his pocket as he turned away.
Crews expect the real grass to be replaced before Christmas, a happy ending to a bitter turf war just in time for the holidays.

Appearing as ghostly visions above the City of Miami Cemetery on Northeast 2nd Avenue, the ghosts of late nineteenth century city pioneers Julia Tuttle and Henry Flagler urged the citizens of Miami to, in their own words, “repeat what they said because we can’t understand a god-damn word you are all saying.”

“I’ve been floating all over the city, from Lemon City to Biscayne Bay and, I mean, it sort of sounds like English,” said Tuttle, the notable Businesswoman known colloquially as The Mother of Miami. “But at the same time also like Spanish.”

“It’s like the entire city is speaking English and Spanish interchangeably, as fast as they can, with a bunch of marbles in their mouth,” interjected the exasperated spectre of Flagler, the prominent industrialist and founder of what would eventually be the Florida East Coast Railway. “Also, Spanish! Why is everyone speaking Spanish here? Has Spain colonized the lands north of Cuba as well? I’ve tried to find out from locals what is going on, but I can not decipher what on earth they are saying.”

The ghosts of the city founders were last seen in what is now Little Haiti, unsuccessfully trying to communicate with Haitian Creole speaking citizens using what elementary French they learned from boarding school.

When asked by Plantain reporters whether Tuttle was aware that the City named a causeway after her that was most famous for being the site of an encampment for sexual deviants, the insulted apparition quickly vanished, saying only that Miami was not “the type of city in which I want to be associated”.

Unconfirmed reports suggest Ms. Tuttle and Mr. Flagler have reappeared in a 55+ community in Boca Raton.
By Ernie Hsiung

The City of Miami has declared a state of emergency and has implemented a citywide curfew following mass civil unrest and violence caused by the announcement that Cuban restaurants would be giving out free croquetas for the newly designated holiday “Croqueta Day”.The curfew was initiated following the announcement that Sergio’s Cuban Restaurant had sold its 20 millionth croqueta and had plans to give away free croquetas in celebration of the achievement. Within hours every Cuban restaurant in Miami had announced that they too would be giving away free croquetas.
“As soon as they announced today was croqueta day people lost their shit. People in Miami will do anything for the croqueta…anything,” said Little Havana resident Daniel Sanchez as he bit into a codfish croqueta before he began looting.
Within an hour of the announcement of free croquetas, Calle Ocho was under siege by hungry Cubans trying to avoid the $1.05 charge for the deep fried dish. Business owners were forced to board up their property along Eighth Street as croqueta-crazed looters ransacked any businesses brave enough to not have free croquetas on hand. The National Guard quickly arrived on the scene, but have sustained numerous casualties.
Seeking refuge from the violence, the Plantain found shelter north in Broward County, where we asked locals what they thought of the turmoil occurring in Miami.
“I don’t get it,” admitted gringo attorney Jason Ireland. “It’s just cheap ham that has been breaded and fried. It’s kind of gross when you think about it.”

Versailles unveiled a uniquely Cuban take on the popular Pumpkin Spice Latte, a “Mamey Spice Latte“, which owner King Louis XIV of France believes will attract a younger and more diverse group of customers to Miami’s landmark restaurant.”We were terribly upset by the recent real report that Miami was only ranked the eight best coffee city in the Country by ~~The New York Times~~, falling behind well known coffee shit holes like Washington D.C. and Chicago,” said Louis XIV. “We realized that Miami’s problem isn’t that the coffee is bad,, it’s that unless you are one of the elderly cigar smoking men who stand outside of our ventanitas all day to discuss right wing politics and comment on the bodies of every woman who approaches, the Miami coffee experience isn’t very friendly.”
In an effort to create a more inclusive coffee culture, Versailles will redesign its building to create a separate female ventanita, a third coffee window for English speaking tourists, and a fourth window for people asking directions to the nearest Starbucks. They will also be offering free wi-fi (although most websites will be blocked) and several new menu items designed to attract younger coffee enthusiasts, such as the Mamey Spice Latte and the Cafe Con Almond Milk.
“The Mamey Spice Latte was fantastic,” said tourist Becky Wiltowner of Grand Rapids Michigan. The 22 year old said that she was drawn to Versailles because she was looking for an authentic Cuban experience while in Miami, “but not like too authentic, you know.”
According to Louis XIV, the effort to modernize Versailles seems to be paying off, but not everyone is happy. “This is a disgrace,” said 83-year-old Ernesto Santiago through a plume of cigar smoke, who, although angered that his beloved cafeteria is changing, noted positively that many of the young ladies attracted to Versailles by the new menu were very attractive.
“Mira ese culo,” said the octogenarian to himself as he sighed to himself, appreciating the passage of time.

In a move celebrated by representatives for Miami’s automotive community, the Florida Department of Transportation announced last week that starting in this summer all state roads in South Florida will have merge lanes repurposed into “Mega-Boost Super Passing Lanes”. The decision was applauded by a majority quorum of Miami-Dade County Commissioners as “innovative”, “forward-thinking”, and “the first of its kind in the nation, if not the world.”

The lane changes will designate all repurposed areas as “no-yield zones”, in which motorists are permitted to use former right-hand merging lanes to accelerate to at least 15 miles per hour above the speed limit in order to pass any obstructive drivers on the left. Plans include repainting the lanes with reflective arrows to indicate faster velocities and spatial entitlement. Drivers using the “Mega-Boost Super Passing Lanes” will have the standard limited distance for merging, but are now expected to overcome slower traffic and transfer into the left-hand lane immediately. Turn signals are optional. Police have been instructed to enforce proper conduct by citing drivers for minimum speed violations, at the officer’s discretion.

“We realize what Miami needs to make our increasingly dense traffic move,” FDOT District 6 Secretary Gus Pego explained in an interview with The Plantain. “Our traffic concerns are not going anywhere, so we need to think outside the box- traditional roadway plans clearly aren’t serving our community.”

After months of contentious and frustrated exchanges between various committees on infrastructure, FDOT’s lane realignment plan was first proposed to the Metropolitan Planning Organization, receiving instant approval for advancement to the County Commission. According to MPO transcripts, the proposals were met with unanimous applause, prompting District 12 Commissioner Jose “Pepe” Diaz” to enthusiastically declare: “There’s our solution. Let’s put those suggestions for expanding transit and Metrorail lines to bed.”

While final approval from the County Commission was slightly more tepid, FDOT received enough votes from district representatives to move ahead. District 13 Commissioner Esteban Bovo, who sponsored the proposal and introduced it before the commission, energetically voted in favor with two thumb’s up.

“This is one of the best transportation plans I’ve encountered on this commission,” he remarked in closing statements. He then added: “Thankfully, I can stop setting an example by taking the train.”

According to Pego, the “Mega-Boost Super Passing Lanes” were inspired during a routine FDOT staff meeting while transportation planners were participating in a daily Super Mario Kart competition. While staffers bickered over a particularly heated race between Luigi, Bowser, and Princess Daisy, one FDOT employee is reported to have snapped his fingers and exclaimed: “Wait a minute! Why don’t we try that?”

The plan, nicknamed in interoffice correspondence as the “Rainbow Road Realignment Proposal”, was included among a number of similarly inspired suggestions, such as a partnership with Waste Management to dump discarded banana peels on all major state roads. Other designs included increasing funding to the Seaquarium in exchange for deceased sea turtle’s shells to repurpose as barricades against slower drivers, and to develop a good-conduct reward system in which motorists with no history of traffic violations or collisions will be permitted to carry one Bob-Omb per weekly commute to toss into neighboring vehicles and thereby clear roadway congestion.

“FDOT relies upon Mario Kart to model roadway infrastructure planning,” claimed Pego. “It’s the perfect system for roadway efficiency that both speeds up commutes and encourages Miami drivers to adopt a healthy combative automotive conduct.”

The minority opponent to the proposal, District 8 Commissioner Daniella Levine-Cava, voiced her apprehension before the quorum, citing her concerns that the plan would endanger drivers, cyclists, and pedestrians, and likely result in serious injuries, if not deaths.

“Miami-Dade already has one of the highest roadway fatality rates in the country,” she explained in her dissent. “Do we really want to enhance those numbers exponentially?”

Her appeal was not enough to sway support, however, as fellow commissioners used her logic against her. One refutal, from District 11 Commissioner Joe Martinez, claimed: “Those numbers would be short term, since any fatalities would just clear up more road space for everyone who can handle the responsibility of being a driver.”

The only other dissenting vote on the plan was from District 10 Commissioner Javier Souto, who slept through the entire meeting. His slumber was interpreted as abstention.

Motorists can expect the “Mega-Boost Super Passing Lanes” to open county-wide on June 1st. Bob-omb deliveries and waiver forms will be mailed to addresses registered with each qualifying vehicle.

Angelica Tillman’s Miami vacation was nearly ruined after the 26-year old forgot to plug her phone in after getting back from the club late last night.Waking up the next morning to find her cellphone nearly dead, the Virginia native briefly plugged it in to recharge while she changed, but ultimately had to leave her hotel room to meet her Aunt Jenna with only a 21% charge.
“I’ll just have to conserve my battery,” thought Angelica as she instinctively unlocked her phone and clicked on Instagram while waiting for the elevator to the lobby of her hotel. “Oh dammit!” she said to herself before realizing what she was doing. She was now at 18%.
Angelica left her hotel and pulled up directions to Lincoln Road, where she was going to meet her Aunt for brunch, but decided to just remember the three streets she needed to navigate rather than waste battery by doing turn-by-turn directions. Several minutes later, however, she had gotten lost and had to open Maps again. “I’m here!!” her Aunt texted to her as she turned onto Lincoln Road with only 6% battery. “Walking up now,” she texted back, an act that somehow ate up another 3% battery.
By the time she arrived at the cafe and greeted Aunt Jenna, Angelica searched around her table to find that there wasn’t a plug in sight. She briefly considered asking if they could go to a different restaurant, but decided not to since her Aunt had already ordered a mimosa and didn’t want to make a big deal about it since she hadn’t seen her in a while.
The brunch with Aunt Jenna was alright, although a bit awkward. She had moved to Miami after divorcing Angelica’s ex-Uncle Jeff and spent the majority of the meal telling her young niece how her ex-husband drank too much and prevented her from achieving her dream of becoming an ophthalmologist’s assistant. She was so histrionic, it’s no wonder her and mom don’t get along anymore, Angelica thought. She knew her mom and Aunt Jenna hadn’t really spoken in a few years, and thinks it was due to some loan her parents gave to her Aunt after the divorce that has still not been repaid. Her mother never talked about it and she didn’t really want to ask about it anyway. Still, her Aunt seems like somehow a real fancy lady now and has a very nice purse and paid for brunch in cash, so maybe she is doing okay.
After brunch, Angelica’s Aunt drove her to Wynwood, during which time she was able to plug in her phone to her Aunt’s Mercedes. The car smelled like cigarettes, but she didn’t mind and was just happy to be able to check her Facebook as it charged. “So are you seeing anyone?” her Aunt asked Angelica, the third time today. The answer was still “no.”
“Do you want to have kids one day?” she followed the question. “Maybe one day. Not right now,” Angelica answered. “Good, wait. Have fun. I had James too early.” They sat in silence for the remainder of the trip.
When she got out of the car it was 12:20 PM and she had recharged to 16% battery, a charge which was quickly down to critical after several minutes of mural watching and taking selfies with her Aunt. “Hashtag BFFs” her Aunt kept saying, trying a little too hard, but still being very sweet.
“So how is my sister?” Aunt Jenna asked during a lull in the conversation, appearing to have been waiting for the right moment. “She’s good. She’s taking a creative writing class,” Angelica answered.
“Oh that must be nice for her,” said Aunt Jenna. “Does she ever talk about me?”
“No, not really. Sometimes she tells stories from when you two were kids or about Grandma and Pa.”
“Oh. Was she upset you were coming to see me today?”
“No. She was happy about it. She wanted me to tell you hello,” Angelica lied.
“Oh…tell her ‘hi’ too, I guess,” said her Aunt, knowing her sister didn’t send any greeting. “Listen, do you mind if I smoke?”
“No, of course not.”
“Do you smoke?”
“Oh good. Don’t tell your mom about this.”
“I won’t.”
After walking around for several blocks to admire the street art, Aunt Jenna received a series of phone calls requiring her to walk away for between 5 and 15 minutes at a time, leaving Angelica to just sort of stand around. She occasionally pulled out her phone, which was back down to 4%, to check the time and look at a picture or two on Instagram.
“How is it going?” her mother had texted her.
“Good. Aunt Jenna say’s hi.” Angelica texted back.
“Call me later.”
When Aunt Jenna returned from her call she was slightly out of breath and looked like she had been crying. “Is everything Okay?” Angelica asked.
“Yeah, of course. Listen, I have to meet someone for work a few miles away. It should only take an hour or two.”
“Oh, okay. So do you want me to wait around here?” Angelica asked. “If you don’t mind. Or you can take an Uber back to the Beach if you don’t want to wait here.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, I can do that.”
“Do you want money? Here is some money,” Aunt Jenna said, handing her niece a hundred dollar bill. ”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
The two hugged and quickly Aunt Jenna left.
“She just left. She said she had to go meet someone for work,” Angelica texted her mother.
Within seconds, her mother was calling:
“What do you mean she had to leave for work?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t give me any details.”
“What does she do now?”
“I’m not sure. She said it was something in advertising but it wasn’t really clear.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I’ll just take an Uber back to my hotel. Mom, why do you and Aunt Jenna not talk anymore? What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Ang.”
“Mom, I think I deserve to know. It’s so weird, what is this all about?”
“Listen, after she left Jeff she asked your father and I to help…” Angelica’s phone died.
“Fuck,” sighed Angelica as she put her phone in her purse and walked around Wynwood looking for a taxicab or a plug.
Meanwhile, in Virginia, Angelica’s mother, unaware that her daughter’s phone had died, retold, for the first time in years, the entire disagreement that broke up the relationship between her and Jenna. As she came to an end to the story, waiting for her daughter to respond and hearing only silence she thought to herself, for the first time, that maybe she has always been a little too harsh on her sister and wondered if maybe it was time to reconnect.
“Angie? Angie? Are you there?” Angelica’s mother asked.
Assuming her daughter had hung up because she could not believe that her mother would cut off ties with her sister over something so petty, Angelica’s mother began to cry.
“Heard you and Angie had a good time. Hope you’re well. Love you,” Angelica’s mother texted her sister several minutes later, their first contact in 11 years.