Somebody told me once that Americans are shocked by Russian roads because in order to overtake a car in front, you often need to go to the oncoming lane. Americans can’t understand why millions of Russians consciously expose themselves to mortal risk every day because of that. But what can we do - it’s only one strip forward and one strip back. But oh my Gosh, how comfortable I felt on our deadly roads comparing to the usual American highway, with a million lanes and an inhuman amount of competent interchanges and signs. I didn’t really got out of Miami, but I naturally started going crazy and to curse myself up hill and down dale. Ok, let’s start from the very beginning. I did an internship at the Miami Herald newspaper. My duties included more or less nothing. Under the terms of the program, we were formally attached to this or that media, they gave us press cards and passes, and then we entertained ourselves as we could. During the first few days I stuck around the newsroom, helped my colleague a bit in finding Russian real estate at the Beach, wrote a column on Russian-American relations based on the recent Putin’s press conference and then decided to do something really significant. I knew that the upcoming weekend the largest conference for people with disabilities in Florida was scheduled for Orlando. I deal with social topics in Russia, so I decided to go. Orlando is pretty close, it’s like going to the neighboring region. Of course I rented a car - I decided that without this it’s impossible to feel like a real American. The office I chose was located near the airport, but it was not so easy to get to it. Fate seemed to lead me in circles, penetrating into my brain a wild thought : should I give a fuck and quit? Maybe it’s better to lie on the Beach under the sun sometimes dipping into the turquoise waters of the Atlantic Ocean? But I said no, I'm a stubborn person. After some forty minutes of wandering around I found the right office and after some time drove on a blue Ford Fiesta. The sun was unbearably beating, an iPhone was working as a navigator, the number of lanes and cars drove me crazy, but on the whole everything was not so bad. I was almost glad when, after a hundred miles, the sky changed color, and large rare drops started falling from it. Well, that's nice, I thought, a little rain has never bothered anyone. Imagine my amazement when in just a few minutes the “little rain” turned into a solid impenetrable wall of a real tropical storm. Well, a few words about my background. I live in the central Russia. Of course, there are rains here, sometimes quite heavy, sometimes they flood the basements, cars on the roads, you cross the road knee-deep in the water... But I have never seen such a huge element! In the Florida Turnpike area, it got completely dark, my car was rocking back and forth from the wind, at some point I was nearly skidded by a passing truck, and I panicked. Almost by feel I turned over to the side of the road and blinked the emergency gangs. But that was not all. The right part of my body was paralyzed by muscle spasm so much that I thought I’ve got a stroke. I tried to breathe deeply, the movie “The Suit and the Butterfly” instantly came to my mind, there is the same scene: the protagonist drives a car, then he’s got a stroke, he pulls over to the side of the road unable to move, and the camera rises up. So, at that moment I felt like that guy. I tried to extend the numb fingers on my hand and prayed to all the gods for someone to come and save me. When I finally got to Orlando, to Hyatt Regency Hotel, I was squeezed. I got out of the car on bending legs, my T-shirt stuck to my back, and colorful spots flickered in front of my eyes. What happened next at this conference for disabled deserves a separate story. I can only say that these people made a strong impression on me, and the story about them was subsequently published at the pages of Miami Herald. I came round closer to the midnight realizing that I had no place to sleep. Following the advice of a guy with autism I went to Motel 6. A stern receptionist gave me the key, warning that only smoking rooms remained. All this was completely unimportant. Imagine the finished frame: midnight, I'm sitting on the porch of the room with a glass of wine and a cigarette. A truly cinematic landscape opens before me - the courtyard of the motel, the real one, from the films, right here mysterious murders take place, which are then investigated by an inspector in a hat. And in the distance, the noise of rides is heard, and a shining giant hammer soars into the hot June sky. On the way back I got into three storms, but not one of them could match the beauty and fury with my first. When I got to Beach, I remembered that I hadn’t eaten anything since last morning. Stress receded. A hot dog bought for three bucks never seemed so divinely delicious, and the ocean waters so gentle and welcoming. The next day I was gave the car, drank three bottles of wine after that and slept for about 12 hours. The first time is always not that easy.