Dear Jay McCarroll

Dear Jay McCarroll:

Can you please be my new Best Friend, and we can hang out and do stuff together all the time?

I think I love you.

Seriously.

Eagerly awaiting your reply, wherein you tell me we can go shopping for apartments and lofts and fabric, and run into Austin Scarlett,

Me.

This city smells like shit.

Literally. Miami smells like sewer gas, frying onions, and grease.

Barf-o-rama.

What's the deal, PEOPLE?! The sewer lines weren't laid more than 40 years ago in most places...and from what I know, sewer technology hasn't changed THAT much in the last 100 years, so how is it that this city smells like, oh, I don't know, Seoul, when this city is a few THOUSAND years newer?! Time to fire those lazy, stupid plumbers that did all the line laying back then! Who would have thought that emptying everyone's toilets directly into the Tamiami Canal would make this place smell like Honduras?

UGH! YOU STINK! And the green finger of stench has a habit of creeping out of every crack in every wall... Know where it comes out in my office building? Out of the WATER FOUNTAIN of all places! That innocuous water fountain right by the elevator... is silently venting out methane gas, from all the Arroz Con Pollo doody floating around ten stories below...

Driving my car home? What do I smell? Poop, fried food, damp poop, damp fried food. It's like only the Gables (where I live, THANKFULLY) is immune to the butt smell of the rest of Miami.

Although, something's going on in my guest Bathroom, where every now and then I'll catch a whiff of something terrible, that has weasled its way past the gastraps.

And don't even get my STARTED on South Beach, where, after a gentle rainstorm, and usually for the months of July, August and September, the area south of 14th Street is under 6 inches of backed up sewage.

Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Miami, you smell like shit.