I booked a room at a hostel in Miami for Saturday night because my plane was scheduled to leave at 6:30am on Sunday. I never made it to the hostel, though. I asked Adam what he thought of going out in Miami on Saturday night and he said he was down. He asked Allison and so was she.  We pre-partied at Honey and Dan’s place (friends of Allison). More of her friends arrived and we taxied it to Mansion in South Beach. Adam, my friend Owen and I  had actually been there once before when we were last together in Florida. It was more crowded than I remembered it being last time, which was a couple Decembers ago. Things were going good until it was getting a little late and I went to the bar to get a water. After ordering, I reached for my wallet and it wasn’t in my back pocket. I knew immediately that I’d been pick-pocketed. I showed my ID to gain entrance, so I had it then. I also tipped the bathroom guy, so I had it in the bathroom too. The dance floor was packed and there were always people brushing by. It was an easy task for a thief. I met up with our friends and they were tired and wanted to go home. Dan had already been kicked out—for what I don’t know.

Things could have been worse. There was only about $60 in the wallet. At least I was in the States and I was in the company of people who could trust me with a loan. I asked Adam to loan me $300 until I got my new cards. Afterwards, I called my bank and cancelled the cards. I had them send the new ones to my Mom’s house and I’ll have her FedEx them to Ecuador. I considered staying in Florida, at the cost of a $150 flight, to wait for the cards to come. This wouldn’t have been a bad option either. Because of this, I’m now paranoid about my stuff. I also hate Miami. And I continue to hate clubs. I don’t know why I went. I can’t wait to get back to the dive bars and karaoke bars of San Francisco.

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