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The same way that my first few sips of Canadian Club gave me my purpose, so too did Miami find its purpose in supplying liquor to the masses. Indeed, I imagine the whole idea of MIAMI was hatched over the sixth round of Mai Tais somewhere around Fort Lauderdale when someone said, “What’s below us?” and his friend replied, “I’m not sure, but you can b-low me!” and everyone laughed and someone fell off their bar stool.
Sure, there are your expensive cocktail joints. You’ll easily pay $12 per drink at most hotel bars. But sit down at any old bar during happy hour (like I did the other day while “working”) and when you order a beer, they’re likely to bring you two for one. That’s two beers, at the same time, for $3.50 ($4 if you’re unpatriotic and drink international). You can even ask for your drink in a plastic cup so you can take it to go. (Try doing that with a hooker.)
What’s more, when you need some vodka, you don’t have to Google map the nearest liquor store. You know why? Because, in an idea so profoundly good and pure, THEY SELL IT A WALGREENS. When you think about it, it just makes sense. Buying condoms? Don’t forget the tequila! Too much tequila and now you need a pregnancy test? Buy some scotch! Couldn’t convince her to have it taken care of, so now you need diapers, baby powder, and wipes – which is OK because they’re kind of nice to use on yourself? IT’S BOURBON TIME.
And here I thought Miami was a city built of snow.