Back on the bus, a deranged, unappetizing mess. On the causeway over to I-95, a car bouncing off the party cruiser, all of us grinding to a halt, confronting the specter of being stuck forever with the animals. A stroke of Trumplike luck, Garrick Edwards and Sebastien V., the twin angels of mercy, pulling up in a huge limousine. Motoring down to Miami, lying on the floorboards in an ecstatic trance until a tire goes out and the great beast dies on the side of the road. Mr. Fix-it, Jason Binn, calling for a cab, noting that the whole nightmare had remarkable similarities to Airport '79.

Miami, and it's business as usual, the glory of the big night out slowly dissipating like dew on a rose. Door trouble at Sinatra Bar ("Don't touch the ropes, buddy"), back to the same old, same old. Plus Models opening with a party at STARS. The Id also debuting, an entertaining warehouse-style space, music with an edge, and a quote on the wall from Joan Didion's Slouching Towards Bethlehem, with interesting parallels to all of nightlife: "The warehouse was conceived as total theater, a continual happening. What happened ten minutes ago or what is going to happen a half-hour from now tends to fade from mind.

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