luck with few compunctions, introduced him to Talking Heads and had a penchant for bohemian life. Unfluent in Spanish, and too independent for the traditional locals, I found my field of possibilities limited to European businessmen and Peace Corps volunteers. The latter seemed overwhelmingly self-possessed with comparisons of human excrement and amoeba stories. These sorts of stories never served to arouse me. I hence nuzzled myself in with the Europeans. Afterall, I was there for a cultural experience . . . regardless of which culture. My musings carried me all the way to Denver, but somewhere over Kansas I began worrying about the present. Would Reinhard be at the airport? Would he be in possession of his faculties? By the time I landed in Miami I was tired, nervous, anxious to see Reinhard and dreading it delighted I had come although overall uncomfortable. My heart wasted beats getting off the plane as he wasn’t by the gate as I had expected. Not wanting to appear uncertain, I confidently marched down the hallway to baggage claim already wondering when the next return flight was. It wasn’t until the hallway opened out onto the main lobby that we nearly collided with each other. He, slightly drunk from the airport bar, was busy describing me to our taxi driver, Dewey. Between downtown and the airport the two had struck up quite a friendship. Dewey became quite a pivotal person in the next few days for us. He had grown up in Miami, though escaped to Hawaii, where he became entranced by a Venezuelan beauty, ended up in her country, got taken for a bundle in a drug deal there (a perfect driver for Reinhard) and was now “just a few months” in Miami so he could make enough money to get back to Hawaii. Nice guy, though that few months could lengthen with his penchant for hanging out in bars with customers. Throughout our stay he kept showing up with the name of a good restaurant or a recommendation for a good cocaine deal. Reinhard kept Dewey’s (grandmother’s) phone number close at hand for easy reference. So here he was. Too tall, too skinny, too drunk, too happy to see me. I was happy to see Reinhard too. Being driven crazy by his mania seemed to have endeared him to me for life and I felt an odd sense of security (now that was a switch) as we arm-in-arm found Dewey’s cab and headed for downtown. Probably the most endearing quality of Reinhard’s is his absolute spontaneity. In spite of all the multitudinous dimensions of his life that have left an array of deep creases and worry lines, there is an innocence and enthusiasm that comes more natural to him than anyone I know. I After my two years in Central America I had returned to find many of my long-time friends terminally married, depressed, alcoholic or just the same as when Ileft. personally think that growing up with incredible sums of old money makes one never consider that people don’t like you. Lot’s of people don’t like Reinhard. He’s the kind of person that lights up cigarettes in crowded movie theaters and says “fuck” a lot to middle-aged women clerks when they don’t have what he wants in the right color. He also walks fast, makes quick decisions and expects those around him to keep up or fall behind . .. whichever doesn’t matter to him particularly. However, he seemed to be on his best behavior this time. He kept asking me what I wanted to do and would crack the window when he lit up in the cab. That first night, after bidding Dewey goodbye, we went to a posh bar on the water and drank margaritas and gossiped. We drink and gossip well together and by evening’s end were in love again and arguing German vs. USA culture and the virtue of martial arts movies (Reinhard) vs. John Huston films (me). Same things we always argued about. Drunk, we risked our lives by walking the three blocks to our hotel through the downtown park. Reinhard kept assuring me that his height and German countenance would protect and I acquiesced. We spent an amorous night in our roach-infested room. (One of the many contradictions in Reinhard is that he has expensive tastes with strange priorities.) Morning was technically early afternoon and we pried our eyes open with the help of our Czech waiter and mediocre coffee. It is a misconception that every other person in Miami is Cuban. That does not do justice to the wealth seekers, young idealists, and wanderlusts that congregate from virtually every continent. Downtown Miami appears to be many ‘ things to many people: ajumpoff point for boaters headed out into the Caribbean ... a vacation spot for the old from the north and the young from anywhere ... a wasteland for small time drug dealers . . . a home away from home for wealthy exiled Somocistas and their ilk ... a business trip and supply house for foreign entrepreneurs. From the perspective of the Latin world, Miami represents freedom in its most garish and consumeristic sense. While wealthy European businessmen travel to Europe for their polyester shirts, wealthy Latinos ' travel to Miami for theirs. And their beta maxes and stereos and any other type of imaginable merchandise. A recreational afternoon can be spent at the Miami airport observing departing Latinos pulling caravans of huge cardboard boxes up to airline windows and trying to negotiate their overweight bill. These boxes, when opened on the other end, reveal smashed clothing, Hello Kitty and Mr. T. paraphernalia, Legos, cassette players and tiny TVs, hopefully hidden amongst the clothes, away from prying official eyes. Downtown Miami is remarkably similar to San Jose, Tegucigalpa, Guatemala City and I suspect a host of other Central and South American cities. Miami is a shopping mecca for their upper middle classes, and the expatriate Latino proprietors have done their best to maintain that familiar atmosphere. The air is hot and humid, the windows reveal one identical stereo-watch-travelling-iron store after another. A different disco or salsa song blasts out from each store. Only the USA price tags give away the location. Reinhard and I were generally treated rudly, despite his obvious intention of buying one of everything in the store. After purchasing enough we made our way to Coconut Grove (hiply posh though ragged around the edges) where I met two handsome men who sat down to flirt while Reinhard was inside spending the amount of my entire weekly food allowance on pate and wine. They told me they were Morrocan. An already finished bottle of wine made me light headed and flirtatious, not to mention irresponsible, as I reveled in the role of international jet setter. I made plans to rendezvous the next day with the older, more debonair of the two, while Reinhard had business. Later, having passed up my date, I fantasized about being sold into white slavery. My symbolic infidelity was more a reflection of my liberated spirit than my feelings toward Reinhard. We were getting along famously and I was flooded with nostalgia. 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