The Death Of Fidel

I was going to Key West so I called my friend Diego
and asked him to meet me in Miami so we could visit
another old friend in Homestead. When I landed at
Wilcox Field I noticed something odd, but I could not
quite put my finger on it, then it dawned on me-----
no Cuban faces, no freaking Cubans at all. It was a weird
feeling. When Diego showed up that’s the first thing I
asked, what happened to the all the Cubans, dude, I
blurted out. Well, he said (if you’ve ever heard Daddy
Yankee talk, well, Diego’s voice is just as annoying)
since Fidel died all the freaking Cubans in the whole
state of Florida have gone back home to the island,
you’re fucking kidding me, right? I laughed, but he said,
no, man, I ain’t kidding, all the freaking Cubans have
gone back to freaking Cuba. Then and there I realized,
no more fine horny Cuban chicks, but, ah hell, I thought
out loud, they’re all bad tempered bitches anyway. Diego,
who was driving, said, yeah, man, but how about the
traffic? as we drove through an empty metropolis like
Harry Belafonte in The World, The Flesh And The Devil.