“Fortune pays you sometimes for the intensity of her favors by the shortness of their duration. She soon tires of carrying any one long on her shoulders.” – Baltasar Gracián (Spanish Jesuit and baroque prose writer), 1601-1658
I feel lethal, manic, on the verge of frenzy. I am foaming at the mouth. My nose is starting to bleed. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.
I throw down my luggage in my apartment, hang my Custom Suits and I get the call:
This Super Fly Argentinian girl, who I met at Mint and haven’t swooped yet, wants me to meet her at her clothing store. She is getting off work soon. And she and her Brazilian girlfriend want to roll out with me. There are innuendos of a Ménage à trois. The evening has promise.
I step out and roll into the CVS on Lincoln Road to grab some chicle. I roll in the line to pay, and a Fly Blonde Russian girl on her cell phone looks at me and mouths “Hi” to me. How often does that happen when a girl is talking on the phone?
I pay for my gum and step outside and light up a grit. I am feeling invincible. I have been sparring a lot. It tends to do that to me.
The Fly Blonde Russian walks out and continues up Lincoln. I quicken the pace, and open: “Do you know which way Sushi Samba is?”, I ask her. (Of course, I know where it is, but it was the first thing that came into my mind.)
“Hi. I do. It is just up there.”, the Russian girl says pointing up Lincoln.
“Wait, my name is Michael Mason.” I say and give her a “two-kisses” greeting. I spit some Street Game and Number Crunch, as I am supposed to meet the Argentinian and Brazilian girls.
Game is on though.
I keep heading up Lincoln and get a text from the Argentinian:
Most people ignore me, but some tourists look at me strange. I have a fleeting thought and quickly dismiss them as from Red States.
I need to settle down though and light another smoke. I am checking my phone and smoking, when a Fly Cubana Girl rolls up on a bicicletta. (She is 21 years old.)
She asks me for a cigarette.
Looking down at my phone, I ignore her for a few beats (real artistic), and say, “Sure.” Hand her one. Then say, “You need a light?”
“Yeah”, she says. I bust out a sick reverse Zippo trick for style points.
We start talking. She is fly. Mad fly. No make up on. But then again, I have a thing for Fly Cubanas.
I start walking with her as she rides her bike. She is kind of hipstered out. But still, stunningly fly. You know the type. Since it is kind of awkward talking to her while she is riding her bike, I say, “Let’s have a seat over here”.
I start rapping out in Spanish and English mixed with her and she tells me she is breaking up with her boyfriend.
I am still supposed to meet the Argentinian and the Brazilian (and I get another text), but I want to hedge my bets like only a true International Playboy does. I tell her to go home and change clothes and meet me at Sushi Samba as I have to go to a “business meeting” right now. She is down. When we part (two kisses salutation) I tell her, “Remember, high-heels and a skirt.” She replies, “I know, you don’t have to tell me.” with a pretty girl’s smile. And I haven’t seen a smile that pretty in a while. My nervous system goes haywire for a split second. A drag of nicotine sparks my synapses and mellows me.
My mind is the enigma filled with broken pictures. The spiritual International Playboy can see clearer now.
I move up Lincoln and get another text from the Argentinian. I respond back, “Almost there”.
I finally get to the Argentinian and Brazilian. They are looking dope. But everything is off. I can’t get the young Cubana out of my mind.
I split as they are both being too difficult.
I roll into Sushi Samba and lock the place down as per usual. I met a cool Argentinian kid from Cordoba at the bar and we both start spitting mad Game at all the fly girls rolling by.
I shoot a text to the Cubana:
“Buisness meeting went perfect. Come meet me at Sushi Samba to celebrate”. (Smooth text).
She responds back right away, “Yaa! Getting out of the shower. See you there soon.”
It’s on. Got to like a girl that loves your success. And Glad I hedged my bets like Kyle Bass.
When she arrives, she is a vision of youthful beauty. She looks like a Cubana Pin-Up Model (which actually happens to be her job). We enter through the side door, as I have the doorman on lock. Her her vibe goes from romantic expectation to dreamy absorption to erotic playfulness quicker than a Salsa dance in Havana.
She has shed the hipster clothes and looks stunning in high heels like all Miami girls do.
We hit it off in dope style. She digs the young-dashing-handsome-mysterious-false grinning-soft spoken-with a wild side-well dressed-millionaire-smuggler type vibe that I give off. Like all Miami girls do.
She knows the DJ and tells him to play this track, which just came out at the time:
She dances by herself for me as every guy in Sushi Samba is checking her out. I stand at the bar, smoking a grit, Custom Suited Down; the envy of every guy in Sushi Samba.
She can really dance.
We get a few more drinks and split. She gives a little resistance, but I come with the “Above is the black poison clouds, You only got one life so enjoy it now” type illmatic Futuristic Game that even top players will finally catch on to in 5-10 years. So I’m not really sweating it.
On my exit, I shake a bunch of hands; guys giving me props, and people I know.
Am I Apostle or Beast? Either way, I am Colossal on Streets.
We get to my apartment. The key goes in the door and
Miami Beach is a very intoxicating place; the ocean, mad amounts of fly girls (easily the most highly concentrated of any place in America), high heels, dresses, short skirts, drugs, late nights, succulent Comida Cubana, etc. It can also be a godforsaken cesspool. But one place can’t have it all, right?
However, as we have mentioned before, South Beach has been many a player’s “Waterloo”. Top ranked players from NYC end up looking like dorks on the beach because they rock wack beach gear. And as a result, they end up filleted. Top tier California playboys get put through the wood chipper since they are not used to the late nights, late dinning hours, rhythms of the night, and smoking in bars in South Beach (they can thank the Gov and the Police State California has become for that). Even top foreign G’s get battered and bruised.
Lucky for you, the reader, your humble author has one of the greatest track records of all time in South Beach.
Here are some of the biggest mistakes I see guys constantly making in South Beach:
1. Not wearing Custom Suits – South Beach is definitely Custom Suit turf. Amazingly, not that many cats bust them. Which in turn makes it more effective. If you dress in tight jeans or glittery Ed Hardy shirts, expect to get blanked in South Beach. However, on the plus side, you should find plenty in common with about 99% of the guys in America. So you will never be at a loss for friends to go out to the local sports bar and eat “Mondo Nachos” and “Jalapeño Poppers” with.
2. Not Street Gaming – Street Game is the Hanging Gardens of Babylon for swooping in South Beach.
3. Going into clubs “Cold” – Here is the thing with South Beach: the nightclubs are pretty difficult to swoop girls at. You need to have girls cooking before you roll to the club and use the club as a closing tool. If you understand this, you understand South Beach.
4. Not rolling to the restaurants – Sure, most South Beach restaurants are overpriced and the food is kind of wack. And it’s hard to get some decent sushi. But the restaurant bars in Miami are literally, Bolivian gold mines for swooping (and we all know where the price of Gold is today). Roll in Custom Suited Down and slide up to the Colombiana and Cubana in high heels and short skirts at the bar. Proceed accordingly.
(Side Note: I have thought for years that if someone opened up a legit traditional Sushi place in South Beach you would print money. Key words here being “legit traditional”. As a matter of fact, maybe I will talk to some of my Sushi guys when I get back to California.)
5. Not going after locals only tourists – Sure the tourists are easier to swoop on a one night basis, but the local Miami girls way more fly. Check out Brickell; and prepared to have your mind blown.
6. Not smoking – Choosing not to smoke is a horrible move in South Beach. By being a smoker, you get mad free leads. Plus, the health benefits from swooping tons of fly Latinas will easily counter act the “potential” risks from the inhalation of tobacco smoke.
9. Not speaking Spanish – You are going to need to speak at least little Spanish and hold a conversation in Spanish if you really want to come up Aces in South Beach. Other languages help as well. I would say I typically speak about 40% English – 60% Spanish (and other languages) when I am in Miami.
10. Not Dancing – You are going to have to dance if you want to close in South Beach. Here is the Salsa Swoop Move.
11. Being undercapitalized – Sure, you might be able to swoop girls in South Beach if your Game is super tight and your broke. But why make it hard on yourself? South Beach girls love that Young, Handsome, Dashing, Rich, International Playboy in the Custom Suit with the big Bankroll. Why do it any other way? Anything less would be uncivilized.
The other advantage is you can really be a “bully with the bucks” in South Beach. So you really might as well hit hard like Camacho and Vargas and peg the market.
In the expert opinion of your humble author, I have found that the key to South Beach is Swagger.
You really need to “taunt” South Beach, “clown” South Beach and “own” South Beach.
Kind of like this:
If you hang out in South Beach in winter, you might have even see me jump up on the planters on Lincoln Road, Custom Suited Down, grit in mouth and shout, “I am Young, I’m Handsome, I’m Fast, I’m Pretty and Can’t possibly be beat!” to no one in particular.
Now I am not saying you need to disrespect the people of South Beach, I am saying you need to simply be a Nightlife Maestro: Dress Razor Sharp, Carry Big Bankrolls, Display mad Language Game and don’t take any shorts.
Stick your chin out to South Beach, make it miss, and come back with flashy combinations.
Basically you want to harness Pernell Whitakers boxing steez into your Nightlife Steez:
Give it a shot.
And watch your Model swoop and fly Latina girl swoop numbers rise accordingly.
gave her a “two kisses” good bye and exit Prime 112 with solid plans to meet the fly Argentinan girl later that night. I step into the balmy South Beach night wearing a two button bespoke cobalt blue Ozwald Boateng suit with the Royal Blue interior like I was from Kansas City. Or Simon City.
Spark up a smoke with the Zippo and a limo driver asks me, “Are you Joe?”
In a heads up move, I respond “No, I am Joe’s boss (having no idea who “Joe” is). Joe is still inside. I need to get to the Gansevoort Hotel quick.”
The limo driver says “Hop in”.
I love pro-bono limo rides.
As I exit the limo, I spot two blond girls, from the West Coast no doubt, smoking cigarettes outside Philippe and say,