Only in Miami Stories from The Miami Creation Myth

Even when injured, dehydrated, moments from heat stroke, one wish kept me from collapsing into the mud forever: selling shirts to papi chulos.

“I’m the Secretary of State!” yelled a short, tubby man with a Miami accent. He shook his bars as the dozen other people in his cell grinned.

A comprehensive guide of the many types of Miami bros one is liable to encounter in da clurb.

Two years ago, when I self-published a silly little book titled The Miami Creation Myth, I set the goal of selling 1,000 copies.

Many elements contributed to Cuban Americans’ recent rightward shift but I want to focus on two particularly salient factors: trauma and anger.

Let’s embark on a tour of some of Miami’s most gentrified neighborhoods that’ll serve as your next post’s perfect prop.

I and many of my fellow Miamians could be left unmoored—culturally adrift, unable to find purchase in our long-lost motherland or newfound home.

How do I proceed as a satirist and champion of Miami when well more than half the county fundamentally and sometimes violently disagrees with me?

I do my work because of its intrinsic pain, anger, frustration, and cathartic release. I do it for the mangroves, but I also do it for myself.

How can one differentiate between communists and patriots in Miami? Luckily, there are several tell-tale signs.