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We went down A1A. I find Miami Beach magical on a cool night when the hotels and apartment buildings are all lit up and the bay is inviting; it’s kind of a kitschy paradise. The Theater for the Performing Arts was swanky, with an upper-class crowd of professionals, gays, and rich Cubans.
I got a beautiful ten-page letter from Elihu, all about how he feels about turning 30 and visiting San Francisco (he didn’t fall in love with it) and working on Wall Street (he’s been at Goldman, Sachs a year now) despite still being a radical at heart.
I just realized that today’s entry closes a dozen years of this diary. A week ago I was flying from Washington to Fort Lauderdale; just about this time we were landing at our stopover in Tampa. Now, unlike then, I know where I’m going – or rather, staying