There's a ball in the air. It slowly descends, no stars in the sky. The ball spins in slow motion.
Suddenly, we fall a few meters. That's normal, says the pilot, but I'm afraid of flying. Sonali holds my hand, I hurt her, but she smiles. Florida flights are bumpy, says the person sitting next to me. Until just now, he was leaning against the window, asleep, with a golf course below. TRUMP is written on the helicopter landing pad. On the other side is the sea.
Hey, I've never been to such an amazing hotel, says Sonali in the elevator; have you? Our luggage has been taken from us, I have another suitcase and can't carry it all on my own anyway. I've already found out where there's a Goodwill in Miami. But looking at the other hotel guests, I don't have much hope. In my room, I drink the welcome Bellini we got at reception and think about Mar-a-Lago faces.
You can see the sea from the pool on the hotel roof. The water is calm, you can't hear the sea, only the annoying pop music, and the beer is expensive, but it's from Italy. Life is good. The sun is shining. I ignore the stares because of my skimpy red Speedo. I am European, I think, and shrug my shoulders. Another Peroni, sir? Sure, I say, sure.
Thousands of banned books in Florida, and the number is rising. It's kind of nice, I think. That they're afraid of books. It means that literature does have power after all. That's one way of looking at it, I think, as I look at the shelf of banned books. Then I have to laugh. Banning Anne Frank's diaries because of sexually explicit passages is pretty ridiculous.
At Books&Books, books by German authors are on display. For you, says the bookseller. We'll read here later. Sonali holds the book by one of our professors in her hands, then gives it to me. I open it, then close it. Pretty heavy, I think. Between the literary institute and here, an ocean.
Sonali and I try again. We go for a walk. Which is crazy. At least, that's what all of us think. It's not the first time someone has stopped and asked if we need help.
We eat Cuban food. (What else?) When there's an election, this is a must-visit spot for Republicans, we hear. They're conservative Cubans. The food is greasy and makes you tired. Time for a nap, I think. I feel the ice-cold beer running down my throat.
Then another walk and, of course, goodwill. Best haul so far. Two Brooks Brothers suits, the old Brooks Brothers, the good stuff.
The club is playing music that makes me feel dizzy for the first time. Strange, isn't it? asks Sonali. That they don't play any new songs here. The club is getting fuller and fuller. It's filled with millennial pop nostalgia.