Only in Miami Stories from The Miami Creation Myth

“Your fetish isn’t dumbification…” Cynthia's voice grew louder, more firm. She looked him dead in the eye. “Your real kink is mansplaining.”

The back of her head hit the concrete hard, obscuring her vision with a flurry of dark spots, but she didn’t mind. She deserved far worse.

Monica’s alarm woke her the same way she always transitioned into consciousness: violently, with a flurry of arms, legs, and sheets all fueled by panic.

Florida Governor Rhonda Santos was 30,000 feet above Central Florida on a private jet, her hands gripping her head in disbelief.

“ANTIFA!” yelled the Guardsman before emptying an entire magazine into the menacing shadow.

Just one of Carlos’ two guest rooms was larger than Cynthia’s entire apartment. The bathroom was larger than her bedroom.

Carlos shook his head. This was far too much for a Saturday afternoon. It was about to get far worse.

"The train is about to approach a turn," said bluebunny. "That’s when you’re going to jump out.”

Instead of public bullet trains, Floridians purchases outrageously expensive tickets to travel the country’s killing-est locomotive from South to Central Florida.

Looking around the stage, Cynthia was certain she was the only one who hadn’t had any work done.