Saturday night we all go out for Cuban food. Emily asks one of the local production crew members for a recommendation and we find a place a little off the beaten path. On the phone with the restaurant Emily inquires if you can hear the thumping techno music.
“Is it loud there?”
“Yes” they say. “It is Saturday night so it is crowded.”
“Yes, but can you hear any music?”
“No,” they say, somewhat confused.
“Great,” says Emily, giving me a thumbs up. “We are going to be six.”
The restaurant turns out to be authentic and absolutely delicious. And though the folks around us are all drunk and yelling, it is a far more preferable kind of loud.
On Sunday, the DJs next door start adding a bit of melody. It is the first time that I recognize any song at all. It is literally music to my ears.
I fly back to the New York on Sunday evening and though the festival is ending that day, Emily and the crew are moving to a house outside of the area. I am sorry to miss that side of Miami. I imagine it to be more my speed.
Back in New York, the weather has turned a bit colder compared to when I left. The sound of traffic, sirens and the overall hum New York City has never sounded so quiet.