In a condo off of West Ave., in the County of Miami-Dade, lived Decò, a young homegrown writer with an intense work ethic and—what was rumored by many — authentic talent. Only twenty-eight, Decò already held a Master of Fine Arts in Poetry, a M.A. in Screenwriting, a PhD in Fiction, as well as a B.S. in Bullshitting, and a M.B.A. in Business Administration, the latter from an earlier era in his life, a period he refers to as his naïve years.
The humble Decò only felt pride in three things, besides his talent and obvious budding success in Miami; these were his ultra-modern four-bedroom sixty-eighth floor South Beach condo at The Stupendously Luxurious, a high rise on West Avenue; his brand new convertible sports car; and of course, his super-hot model girlfriend, Chichi [shee-shee].
Four years earlier, Decò purchased the half-a-million-dollar condo purely on speculation, with little money down. The deal closed solely off a strong credit rating he’d rather justly achieved while in graduate school, a time when he sustained himself strictly off of student loans. These loans, in combination with an equity line of credit on the condo, ultimately culminated in a total debt slightly under a measly four-hundred-thousand dollars. But a little debt did not bother Decò, on the contrary, his literary and skillful prowess, and super-human intense work ethic, as it was so often proclaimed (by himself) would surely land him heaps of money and fame, especially in Miami. In a city rich with swagger, it was only a matter of time before Decò would earn the riches that so deservedly come attached to an intense work ethic and talent.
Decò leased the brand new convertible sports car with the same hard-earned and justly received credit score of a young twenty-something in graduate school. The customized vehicle was unique to the market. It represented the first electric-hybrid-turbo-boosted-convertible. It had the groundbreaking ability to reach zero to sixty in three seconds while squeezing eighty-two miles out of a gallon. Plus, the car had an extremely obnoxious GPS system, voiced by Gilbert Gottfried. Exuding carbon emissions, as well as reducing dependence on foreign oil were issues more important to the writer’s super-hot model girlfriend, who often chewed his ear off about maintaining a minimal eco-footprint. Decò liked speed. “Let’s go,” was indeed his catchphrase. He enjoyed zipping around the narrow and winding streets of South Beach, with Chichi [shee-shee] in shotgun. He didn’t care where they went as long as they moved with tenacity. They often drove the lengthy two blocks from the condo to the culinary Mecca of Whole Foods where they’d peruse the aisles filling their cart with delectable organic cuisine. Chichi had a special diet, recommended and prescribed by her casting agent and personal friend at Wilhelmina, mixing the best qualities of spicy veganism, raw food and Kentucky bluegrass.
Chichi [shee-shee] was the apple of Decò’s eye. At the tender age of twenty, the luscious super-model had already graced the cover of numerous magazines, particularly in Latin American markets. Her Mestizo ethnicity (Irish, Kenyan, Filipino, Portuguese, and Australian Shepherd) as well as her tall, fit body absolutely turned heads everywhere they went. In his car, with Chichi [shee-shee] Decò loved roaring off the beach, across the Bay, zooming in and out of lanes, moving like the wind in a hurricane, to hit up their fancy athletic club on Brickell Avenue. They both engaged in strenuous workout routines incorporating a healthy balance of Zumba, Pilates, Kickboxing, Spinning, Yoga, Racquetball, P90X and Power Chess. Chichi [shee-shee] hailed from Corsica and spoke with a light French accent. The young maiden had an impeccable eye for fashion and with pleasure Decò drove her to any and all of the many malls in the County of Dade, that is when he wasn’t busy and hard at work being hard at work and busy.
For a Miami-minute (sixteen months), the young couple was the toast of the town. They were A-listed at every major art gallery opening, magazine sponsored fashion show, corporate-organized charity gala; they were regulars at all the hotel bars and clubs along the Drives and Avenues of South Beach. They ventured on the town nightly—networking, mingling, with complimentary drinks in hand, lost in the glitter and swag; of course this lavishness occurred only when Decò wasn’t engaged in his constant engagement of being creative.
Then, in a fit of dramatic and pathetic irony, in a scene Decò could not have written with all his formal education, the walls came-a-tumbling down. Apparently, the young professional was not aware of his adjustable rate mortgage which suddenly popped from 3.2 percent to 17.9 percent. It caused an increase in his mortgage payments of almost five thousand dollars per month. Soon Decò was unable to pay the bills and his beloved electric-hybrid-turbo-boosted-obnoxious-convertible became possessed. Without an eco-friendly car Chichi [shee-shee] found minimal use for Decò; he could no longer drive her to the many malls in the County of Dade. Eventually his beloved penthouse condo at The Stupendously Luxurious fell into foreclosure, and his super-hot model girlfriend found a new man to drive her around. The experience was so humiliating Decò had to move to the neighboring village of Wynwood…