Dear Miami,

You were cooler when I was 15. You were cooler when staying out past 2 at a nightclub to watch a group of musicians kick ass was actually the thing to do, and worth doing. You were cooler when we used to go out to the car at 3am, drunk and stumbling, to find the last few coins stuck somewhere in between the car seats with the hopes of buying another drink, and not to add money to the meter, because we knew in our bones that the meter maids were bitter and didnt care if you had one minute or five, you were still getting that ticket.

Now, I know you’re mad. I left you without a lot of notice, for Orlando, for a man, for an education, but that’s no reason to act like a baby and shut down at 2:00, thats no reason to push all the amazing artists out of your streets with your lack of opportunity and competition. That’s no reason to greet artists with distracted conversations and leave them performing to empty dance halls. And its definitely no reason why the same ten schmucks are always at the same place doing the same shit in a city so damn large.

Miami, you have a responsibility you may not be aware of. People think you’re cool. They look at you in your little bikinis and your pastel colors, your famous beaches, your lights and your stars and they think you’re the shit so they come visit. And then they get there and you don’t care. You ignore them.

What makes you think they’re gonna keep coming back? The amazing attitude that each of the stuck up hotel attendants have when you walk past them? The traffic? or are you thinking that its the intense heat and cruel and inhuman humidity? Let me be the first to tell you: No.

None of these things are enough. Miami, right now, to a lot of us, youre like that really hot guy from high school, or that girl that you wanted to bone worse than anything else in your at the time so far short lived human existance. You pursue them for years, you worship their style, their tastes, their legacy. You yearn each night to dip you toes in that pink sand of exstacy that you just know has to be waiting for you at the end of your dreams.

Then you get them naked.

And your left there, staring at a tiny dick, wondering what you could possibly to with something so small in the name of fun. That or you're facing a bush that hasn't been trimmed since 1987, very a-la-Demi-Moore.

The difference is, Miami, youve got sooooo much potential. Your dick is not small, its just flaccid. Underneath that genital mane, are the most luscious pussy lips that you have ever laid eyes on. You just gotta learn how to use it. You gotta realize that pushing out the cool people to spread your good name ain't working for you. Because the rest of here are just bored. and its still so early.

So Miami, I'm back now. I'm back to give you that second chance that i know you wanted, because you know I got a lot of say and a lot of outlets through which to say them, and the last thing you want is to hear that I called you a whore again.

I have a lot of faith in you. Mostly because I've seen what you're capable of, I've seen what you can produce. So please, try not to let me down.

Yours truly,

Miss Melo