Following Steve's recommendation, I found the fabled South Beach. It's not actually a beach, but a district. My first gander of the Lincoln promenade in the evening made me mad - there were so many ravishing women about, how could I meet them all?

The next day, after 6 hours of maximum vitamin D production at Haulover Beach through the exposure of the majority of my skin's surface area to the blazing sun, I was ready for an evening of painting on Lincoln.

I watercolored the terribly beautiful people and their mileau, flanked by Mike the Brooklyn coconut leaf weaver and Avrillo the cuban painter. Avrillo gave me the hilarious inside scoop on seducing pretty boys with art. A Persian princess named Marryam caught my heart and though I dreamed of a kiss from her in trade for a sketch of a palm tree in watercolor, a got a very light hug only. She left her dinner date several times to come chat with me though, and for that I feel very lucky.

A different day on Haulover brought Maria into my life. We spent a day naked on the beach and an evening with cloths on, which is kind of backwards I guess, but that's Miami. She is sweet, lovely, intelligent and creative, but as I was feeling sort of fed up with being attracted to yet another exquisite woman with a boyfriend, I took her home early and fell into a light coma in the back of the Tundra.

For those of you who are familiar with my patterns this was something of a milestone, I call it progress. I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, but today the prospect of lavishing a woman who is already spoken for is less than intriguing. It's none of my business what some folks do or don't tell their significant others, I just don't want to trigger lies and the breakdown of trust between humans anymore. I must be some kind of flipping saint.