Chapter Seventeen: Harry, do you think he will find what he is looking for?...

Mounted upon a huge bill board, the Copper Tone Girl and her dog announced Miami's welcome in mechanical movement.

Beautiful and variegated, the city gleamed in reflections of smooth, clear, salty-blue skys and a kaleidoscopic of foliage which seemed to swamp everything in multiple shades of green, red, and yellow: royal palms, rich with luxurious green crowns mounted upon enormously high, thick stalks of gray; coconut palms, peaked in minty green, split-blades brimming with brown and green coconuts; areca palms, their green and yellow elegant fronds heavy with red, berry-like seed pods blowing in the sea-swept breeze; massive, grand-old oaks, spreading their arms in shaded lanes; tremendously huge ficus trees, with trunks smothered in brown, wax drip, massive root systems... tendrils wrapping trunk and ground alike--Clean--Fresh--Perfect!...

"Wow, Look At That!" Joe shouted.... "See The Live Alligator Wrestling!"

Signs, boasting of prosperity and nature, splashed the road-sides in fervent expectation: "Send Fresh Oranges Home!"--"We Ship Anywhere!"--"Visit Coral Gardens!"--"Monkey Jungle!"--"Coral Castle": The Last Love Story!"

Joe had found his Garden of Eden; his visual excitement peaked as the driver announced this was it: "Last stop! MIAMI! Fun, Sun and Surf! Last stop!" He cried over the intercom as he swung the large bus into the crowded depot.

Joe exited the bus and was immediately met by a wall of humidity thick enough to swim rather than step into. Busy with tourists and refugees from Cuba, the language, aroma, and visions of the city overwhelmed his senses. Unlike familiar NY, Miami's year round tropical atmosphere spoke full of mysteries and delights waiting to be uncovered; and with fifty dollars and the clothing on his back... he was set!

Joe began walking among the shops and restaurants; exploring with eyes, nose, and thoughts. The first Cuban Restaurant he saw he entered, found a seat at a counter, and ordered a $3.95 feast of Cuban food: Yellow rice with fish, breaded Cuban steak, plantains, and cafe' con leche--a strong sweet brew of rich Cuban coffee and milk. When he had completed his meal, he paid the bill and walked out the door: HAPPY AND FULL AND READY TO EXPLORE SOME MORE...

As he turned the first corner they swept down on him like a pack of wild, mad dogs. The next thing Joe knew, he was seated upon the ground, dazed, bleeding... pockets clear, cleaned out; a traffic of richly arrayed tourists moving around, over, and through him.... non stopped to offer assistance to the vagabond in his misery.

Harry, a group of young toughs whom had seen the cash he had through the window now had the cash!

He was lost and alone, again, with out any means to survive. He walked all night until a car pulled along side him. An older gentleman asked if he had a place to sleep. He replied he did not and the man offered him one; said he was a youth worker whom assisted new comers in getting work and lodging. In no position to refuse, he entered the car and it zoomed off into the hot, humid night.

They arrived at an apartment house and parked the car. In minutes they were in his apartment. It did not seem the sparsely furnished two rooms were anything out of the ordinary. But an absence of pictures, momentous, or any other object which would shed light on this person with a sense of charity made the rooms seem sterile. He informed Joe to sleep in the bed, he would give him a ride to a youth center in the morning. Exhausted, Joe was soon fast asleep...

Rough hands pulling off his clothing awoke Joe with a start. The gentleman of courtesy stood totally naked. A beast of determination. Joe soon found himself in a desperately losing battle as the man beat him. Turning him over in his quest of perverted imagination, a rush of fear and embarrassment flooded Joe's very being. With his one arm around Joe's neck, suffocating the very breath from his lungs, he used the other in his attempt to commit an act of copulation.

"NO, God NO," Joe screamed out loud, struggling in a living nightmare...

He's trying to separate Joe's legs as Joe fights back...

Joe remembered a street fighting lesson Sergio taught him: he ceased struggling... the man relaxed his grip... Joe pushed upwards and towards the left.. Mr. Pervert countered and applyed pressure towards the left... Joe twisted suddenly and precisely to the right... his attacker fell to the floor... Joe shot his hand out and grabed a glass resting on a night stand... and.. as the man attempted to arise... Joe hit him with the glass... blood pours from a gash in his face as Joe jumps up in total fright... races into his clothing... and shoots through the front door.....................

Once again he is running for his life. His tired and twisted feet, which once kept him confined to a chair, become wings of an eagle; he flies down the stairs and onto Biscaine Blvd--a musty, surreal landscape of warm, salty air, huge royal palms, and blinking traffic lights... with only an occasional car breezing by to break the dead silence of the night.

Harry, this lesson taught Joe to be wary: even when he was on the road and down on his luck, he never sold his self like many of the other runaways which he met on his journeys. It was a harsh lesson, but those beguiled by these demonic creatures would became prostitutes whom sold their bodies to perverted men in every city--large and small. He was there, he saw it with his own eyes: Those whom grew old on the streets and were cast aside for younger men, would evolve into beasts who preyed on those same men: Robbing and beating them for pleasure. He learned it was they, the learned, that must teach the innocent. As you will hear later...