Miami's Red Mirage

On Sunday mornings, I drive past a church in suburban Miami-Dade County on my way to the gym. As I approach the church, I try not to look, but I always take a peek. The sudden traffic suggests I’m not the only one. We’re looking at the women, of course. I don’t know what proper church attire is supposed to be these days, but in Miami it seems to be clothing that accentuates the ass. Granted, it’s difficult for Hispanic women to restrain all that carriage, but maybe they should strap it in a bit more when they’re at church. No judgment, of course. This is Miami, where judgment is pointless and tacky. You get used to all the ass. You still look at it, but you get used to it, if that makes sense. Maybe in the Midwest, cornfed white girls let it all hang out at the local megachurch, too, but it’s different in Miami. Here, the women deploy their assets and sexuality with a kind of glee. A buddy of mine stopped going to this very church because he was “too tempted.” “These girls look like they’re fresh out the club,” he said. Indeed, bro.