. . . with Hertz, same as last year. One less encounter with the TSA is always a good thing. Also one less claustrophobic ride, one less chance to lose luggage, one less chance to be treated like self-loading cargo, one less fee to pay. Screw you, domestic United Statesian airlines.
We were booked at the Miami Hilton because it's comfortable but even they can't control the weather so we didn't swim because it was raining. But we did enjoy their restaurant very much. I had a cold (rare, as in almost tartare) steak salad and Joyce had some other such thing. We generally order things when we travel that Joyce doesn't make at home. This is why I almost never eat chicken abroad but I do eat steak or whatever they have for a specialty. And I never eat veal in the US, but I get it when I can in Europe. Not that you can find a lot of veal here anyway.
So, a very uneventful stay that consisted mostly of reading Stephen King's Duma Key and charging batteries. Even Joyce was reading a collection of stories by Faye Kellerman. "Halleluja! It's a miracle!" (Bob Gunton's Warden Sam Norton in Shawshank Redemption.)