You never know where the tongue will go while sipping on margaritas at cousins’ night. As the tequila slid down my throat, my lips loosened up. And that’s when I shared stories of my early days in Miami… and the crazy people I met.
One of the first friends I made was a work friend. To protect the innocent, or not so innocent in her case, let’s call this former friend Lolita. She was a skinny, white girl, from an upper-class, DC family. She was living with her five-year-old daughter at her boyfriend’s house somewhere in Miami.