May, 1977.
Miami.
Although it’s early May and it’s not quite noon yet, it’s already blisteringly hot.
In a second floor room of a run-down Holiday Inn worn thin by too many spring-breakers from the snowy north and rock bands touring the southern circuit, Tom twists in a shabby, hard arm-chair wedged into the corner of the room. He fingers the dials on his Canon TX SLR camera.
The two double-beds in the room have had their mattresses moved off the box springs and placed on the floor to make 4 double beds.
Enough room for six, rather large, African-American men and one skinny, soon-to-be-diabetic, 20-year-old white man to sleep.
Outside, the Florida sun bakes the stairwell, parking lot and the beach beyond. It must be 95 degrees with 95% humidity out there.
Inside the room, it’s worse. Continue reading →