I seldom cross the border into Broward. I did this weekend and passed by Las Olas Riverfront expecting something lively and a bite to eat. Instead I found a taste of the post apocalyptic.
The place was almost completely empty–devoid of activity. I went to the bathroom, but the faucet ran only to a drip. There was no soap. No paper. Still, the fountains were running. The lights were on. The palm tree trunks were hauntingly illuminated. Escalators were broken along with chairs and bar stools. I counted three establishments open–occupied only by employees.
The directory shows what’s left:
I was stunned. What I saw moved me–literally took my ass to South Beach for dinner.