I hate South Florida.
One of the distinguishing characteristics of this place is the unique smell. Everywhere you go it stinks faintly of mildew. Everything looks dirty and worn. Everything is wet, all the time. Ants crawl over every inch of space inside and outside.
The tropics were not intended to be bent to civilised man’s will. Down here, nature constantly reminds you that she is in control and that, by whatever means available – hurricane, slow rot, tsunami – she will, in the end, reclaim her own.
What a miserable existence. Cool dampness with the smell of pine needles is a fine thing. Hot dampness with the constant stench of rot permeating everything is not.
In the immortal words of Roosevelt E. Roosevelt: “It’s . . . hot and wet! That’s nice if you’re with a lady, but ain’t no good if you’re in the jungle!”
Or, for that matter, in Miami.