The strivers are off limits here

Going back home, I died. Again. And although I've never noticed any Lazaruses in my family tree, I was filled with this half-ecstasy half-sadness people probably feel when they die. This trip, just as every each of them, was a tiny life. The car radio kindly reminded me it was Martin Luther King's Day, the day I was leaving Miami. Can you imagine leaving the Sunshine State for the Empire State in the middle of winter? I'd rather concentrate on not letting delusive viscous summer warmth go of my veins, before I go on.
You know what's the most appropriate phrase for depicting Miami? 'Oh well'. Two days I’d spent there now reflect in my old 20-year-old memory as one big morning and one big evening. The morning was featured with my burning ambition to start running around the city in search for local colouring, but I’d received an idle and sleepy ‘Not so fast. Just go with the flow’ from the bed of my companion. Untroubled breakfast (I honestly felt like if I was chewing sunshine) symbolically including oranges; splashing in a swimming pool, then finally getting ready for roaming around. Despite the scorching weather (as for my rather conservative notions about January) you could meet lots of walkers on the touristy arteries. But you could see no one rushing. Even the retro cars were lazy to mess around and just stood there, glaring at you imposingly. Later on I was briefly explained, that Miami is a city of rich idlers and dreamy senior citizens. However, eveningtime made me notice that Miami is not just a place for zillions of pictures with palm trees and the ocean. At night you can actually find people of your age and not find a parking place. The whole city is partying in order to wake up tomorrow at 6 p.m. and party again. And so should I!
My last memory of Miami cuts at walking into the ocean. Standing knee-deep in a not-so-summery water, I suddenly felt like jumping from the fact that the idler part of me found its paradise and was absolutely content. Plop! and my camera falls from my pocket right into the music-stuffed water. Oh well...