The Bank of America building is grimy, but the way it imposes twists something inside me: how the skyline is bent like a wire, how none of the other buildings dared grow higher and usurp its glory and formidable space. Miami could sink but the top of that place would be flat like an island for me to recline on and lure weary mermaids to come on inside with promise of drinks and lite conversation. Who would’ve guessed I could feel such elation from soviet concrete, unpretty and bland? I can still see the top of it here from the sand with the ocean behind me for miles and miles. Miles and miles and miles and miles.


~ by perfectionatrix on January 18, 2011.

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