They’re right. The archaic definition of ‘glamour’
is a kind of spell that mystifies a victim. Well, they call Miami the Magic City. And it is mystifying. In its beauty, certainly: the clack of a model’s high heels on Lincoln Rd, the teal sweep of Biscayne Bay, flowing cool into the wide South Florida sky; the blood-orange fire of the sunset, setting the downtown skyline aflame.
Then there’s less-conventional beauty: a poetry slam
in a converted warehouse, or a Venezuelan singing Metallica en español in a Coral Gables karaoke bar, or the passing shalom/buenas días traded between Orthodox Jews and Cuban exiles.
Miami is so many things. All glamorous, in every sense of the word. You could spend a fun lifetime trying to escape her spell.
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