Back in Atlanta.

On the plane coming back from Miami. I'm pretty sure I'm in love with the city, as much as I'm in love with the tanned Portuguese fellow sitting a row over. He could get it, he could get it right now, shaved legs and all.

I think there's an air marshall sitting next to me, he doesn't look how I expected air marshal’s to look, but then again all I know of air marshal’s I learned from movies and mainstream entertainment in general, they're always in plain clothes...not as svelte as I thought either.

There's an entire gang of these Portuguese men, and I am simply dying.

When the hell am I going to Portugal? Then Brazil? I need to hurry that on up, but chances are I'll get myself pregnant, every time this dude stands up I think of half Portuguese babies.

I just want to eat him.

Including that fitted black v neck he's wearing, and the boat shoes, and the crisp khaki shorts. Babies. Nothing but babies. And he's so tall, he almost hits the top of the plane, my God, I'd love to....

The list goes on, let me not get to crazy.

See? This is why I need to remain single, so I can indulge myself for a while, this is what my youth is for, my ancestors have enabled a person of my sex and color to trick off as freely and as much as possible before I have to be shackled down with the dubious task of procreating and prolonging life on earth. Since anti gay marriage activists claim that that is one of the main purposes of heterosexual marriage and therefore disallow two species of the same sex to join together in holy matrimony.

The air marshal just scratched his balls. Men, are just...ugh.

I forgot to describe this wondrous scene I saw on the evening flight to Miami. The convergence of the earth's atmosphere and space, I'm not even sure that is possible with a standard airplane, wouldn't the pressure be too great? Can we go that high? Well it sure looked like we did, the dark atmosphere was lit with this line of bright blue, cloudy masses beneath, the blue shone vibrantly in a single line and then there was just infinite space sprinkled with stars.

There was a particularly bright star that drew my attention, but I'm still unsure about whether or not it was a satellite, for a moment the deception caused me to become uneasy, but then a remembered that a satellite in itself is a huge feat for mankind, did I ancestors ever believe anything man made couple possibly permeate the infinite around us?

Shit were they even aware of the infinite?

But does that matter now?

My awareness will make up for their own. My success will make up for their forced failures. My legacy will right all the wrongs done to us, to our color, to our creed.

The revolution will be televised.

I welcome the face of a great African CIVILIZATION.

Last night I took a walk along South Beach, navigated the streets with my mind trained on attracting marijuana, there was no way I could be in Miami and not have shared it with Mary Jane. An implausible impossibility. There was alcohol to be sure, so I wasn't completely bereft of mindless intoxication, but alcohol is not Mary. And you get tired of alcohol. Too many health complications. I'm a pothead at heart you know. So I walked, and I walked, headphones in, music blaring, eyes trained to finding a fellow smoker.

I took a couple of turns, careful not to go through the unlit roads, Miami was still new me, I had to be careful not to end up on all of those detective shows my mother watches so religiously. I suddenly found myself walking behind a man with dreadlocks, I sped up a little to get a clear view of his profile, hope soared.

There was a bong shop a couple of feet ahead of me, I made sure to stop and show ample interest in the numerous pipes and hemp papers that decorated the window. He spoke to me.

Yada, yada, yada, yada, you're so beautiful, yada yada, you're leaving tomorrow? Yada, yada, yada, what bad luck!

We turned a corner, and I was careful in entertaining the conversation, I lied easily about where I reside, my sexual preference and the likes and continued walking with the warm knowledge that this man, MUST, MUST have weed. He had a heavy Jamaican accent, the hope almost drowned me.

So I asked point blank; “Do you smoke?”

He said yes without hesitation, and next thing you know I was sitting on south beach at 2 am in the morning smoking a spliff of Ghana weed with a Dade Country Rastafarian.

Jah mother fucking bless.

Remember kids, what you think you attract.