R&B Mobsters and the Florida Streets

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Bol Miami was full of holey vessels scarred by life's shrapnel in the volatile world of business after dark. Bullets. Shanks. Pistol packing predators putting packages on pavement. And that was just the corrupt cops and the criminals who paid them off. It was the dawn of rock and roll in America. Patrons sayin' it was all in the sinners, and blood all in the paint. Dollars in the spirits and laundry bags full of fresh, pressed, clean, green ink on cotton, scrubbed to excess, and caught on fire. Burning money fast. How it all resulted was a forlorn conclusion. Every mobster ended up dead. Dead and forgotten. But the times were full of concerts, and parties, and dances, and cash. Black. White. Black and white cop cars chasing gold. Silver too. Jukeboxes reigned in change from every barroom to back alley, and live music captivated every ballroom to boot, dressed to thrill in a party dress or three piece suit. Competing mobs established fronts on every avenue at the nexus of fun and cash. Entertainment was the humming machine making mud clean. Dirty ledgers controlled the narrative. Holding territory was everything. There was action every corner. Dice in every alley. Diamonds clubbing spades for the hearts of queens because of jacks; and kings fell under bridges wherever aces took the jokers every block. Used numbers blew down the lost ave of infinity past pool halls full of gold. A twenty-four hour hustler's paradise. How the sun glowed orange-train-light at the smoking local depot. Buzzing commerce from the Courthouse; and ringing dollars in the dark. All day long, Overtown was in Downtown Miami's shadow. At night, both sides looked the same. The streets were full of crossroads. Choices. Opportunities. Rock and roll came to life in the streets of Miami. R&B became its soundtrack. Soul took control. Funk was right on time. Eighty nightclubs. Multiple theaters. Giant dance parties. Forty thousand people. Three and a half square miles. Miami music history.

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Bol

Miami was full of holey vessels scarred by life's shrapnel in the volatile world of business after dark. Bullets. Shanks. Pistol packing predators putting packages on pavement. And that was just the corrupt cops and the criminals who paid them off. It was the dawn of rock and roll in America. Patrons sayin' it was all in the sinners, and blood all in the paint. Dollars in the spirits and laundry bags full of fresh, pressed, clean, green ink on cotton, scrubbed to excess, and caught on fire. Burning money fast. How it all resulted was a forlorn conclusion. Every mobster ended up dead. Dead and forgotten. But the times were full of concerts, and parties, and dances, and cash. Black. White. Black and white cop cars chasing gold. Silver too. Jukeboxes reigned in change from every barroom to back alley, and live music captivated every ballroom to boot, dressed to thrill in a party dress or three piece suit. Competing mobs established fronts on every avenue at the nexus of fun and cash. Entertainment was the humming machine making mud clean. Dirty ledgers controlled the narrative. Holding territory was everything. There was action every corner. Dice in every alley. Diamonds clubbing spades for the hearts of queens because of jacks; and kings fell under bridges wherever aces took the jokers every block. Used numbers blew down the lost ave of infinity past pool halls full of gold. A twenty-four hour hustler's paradise. How the sun glowed orange-train-light at the smoking local depot. Buzzing commerce from the Courthouse; and ringing dollars in the dark. All day long, Overtown was in Downtown Miami's shadow. At night, both sides looked the same. The streets were full of crossroads. Choices. Opportunities. Rock and roll came to life in the streets of Miami. R&B became its soundtrack. Soul took control. Funk was right on time. Eighty nightclubs. Multiple theaters. Giant dance parties. Forty thousand people. Three and a half square miles. Miami music history.

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Pages: 94, Hardcover, Jake Katel


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Merk Jake Katel
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  • 9798240922497
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