At a Miami event, I found myself surrounded by a cult obsessed with minting bananas and trading Eth. Does it all mean anything?
Two weeks ago, I walked into an upscale restaurant for a networking dinner. I was brand new to Miami, a city whose residents pride themselves on two-story strip clubs, too-orange spray tans, and rented Ferraris.
I didn’t want to be here – neither at this dinner, nor in Miami – but since I was supposed to spend six months stuck in this city receiving medical treatment for a weird dizziness issue I’d been dealing with, I figured I’d try my best to make friends with any non-terrible Miamians I could find.
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Originally posted in the guardian.
