Every landlocked mile in Miami-Dade County has a fatal flaw. Ocean Drive: Yeah, yeah, Lamborghinis, neon, fake boobs — what are you, from Ohio? Miracle Mile: It's fun if you're a South American multimillionaire with a pastel sweater on your shoulders and an Iglesias CD in the stereo of your Bentley. Being an alt-weekly, we could have chosen some gritty stretch of urban hyper-realism — we're talking to you, Biscayne Boulevard between 50th and 70th streets — but then you'd probably get stabbed with an infected syringe, and besides, we did that last year. Clearly we're fed up with people of all ilk, so we're devolving, sprouting fins — or at least donning some rubber ones — and heading back to the primordial soup. Located just off Miami Beach — but far enough away that the Jersey Shore camera crew is but a distant nightmare — is the Wreck Trek, an artificial reef of sunken barges and tugs. Fish dig that kind of shit, and who doesn't dig fish? All colorful, happy, and free, none of them wearing tank tops or getting tribal tattoos or running Ponzi schemes or yelling about Obama's birth certificate. Go there with a scuba instructor. If our ratios are correct, an hour underwater will allow you to tolerate two months on land.