There was a tense air among the Miami Beach Tuesday Morning Breakfast clubbers; distrust over the Convention Center project coursed through the veins of a decidedly older group, but with all the tenacity and evil-genius plotting of a limber anarchist collective.
The guillotine that is the vote to designate a developer for the 52 acre district, which could come as soon as the December Commission meeting, frightened and angered.
Something must be done everyone mouthed in different words.
I fear that like their younger counterparts, the Occupiers, they too might suffer from a damning disease where the body accomplishes nothing, becomes practically immobile, while at the same time the mouth can not stop from yapping revolutionary threats against the powers that be. Still I assume nothing, a citizen’s flag might yet fly over city hall.
Outside another movement was boiling with unrest; the “unpaid workers of David’s Cafe II” stormed the windows adjacent to the MBTMBC with their protest signs. They clawed at the glass like zombies trying to get at fresh meat; they groaned their tale of working and of the cafe’s owner pocketing their earnings. A pair of women who weren’t really paying attention to the clubbers’ discourse asked the waitress to draw the blinds, and continued their chit chatting when the problem was no longer visible. The handful of signers just got louder.
Spanish. English. Their angry accusatory chants were bitter, and sounded fresh. It had been months since they started this.
Bless the vengeful man who will not let go an injustice even to the detriment of his own life. The bile will undoubtedly shorten his life, but he rather not share the world with his enemy.
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EDITOR’S NOTE: Quick observations are just that, a slice of what was seen. They are not meant to be complete articles.
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