"So I guess I won't be seeing you down at Green Streets any more."
"And we won't be giving each other the finger when I try to pass you while you're riding your bike, and I'm driving my car down South Bayshore Drive."
"That only happened once, Frank. And you know I was just kidding."
"I know. I seem to remember we both had a pretty good laugh about it a couple days later when I saw you down at Scotty's Landing."
"Yes, that we did. Man, those fish sandwiches at Scotty’s are the best. I’m gonna miss Scotty’s the most.”
“So Bron, why are you leaving?”
“Blah blah blah, blah blah, salary cap, blah blah home, blah blah blah…”
“Dude, it’s me. Frank. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Why are you leaving?”
“OK, Frank. I’ll be honest with you. But it has to stay between us neighbors, ok? One Coconut Grovite to another. Cool?”
“Trust me, this will stay strictly between us."
“Well, remember way back when, just before we first started hanging out, when I told the world I was taking my talents to South Beach?”
“Yeah, of course. Everybody remembers that.”
“Well, since then two things have happened. One, it turns out the American Airlines Arena is in Miami, not South Beach, and there's a big difference between the two places."
“A lot of people make that mistake. Especially the announcers on ESPN, who think every team in Miami plays on South Beach. What's the second thing that happened?"
“The second thing, the real reason I'm leaving, is because - every single time one of my friends comes to visit me, all they want to do is go to South Beach. And as much as I try to say no, we end up going."
"Same thing happens to me when my friends visit. They all make me take them over there, no matter how hard I try to explain just how bad South Beach sucks."
"Right? So as much as I will miss living in Coconut Grove, I'm taking my talents to Ohio because I can't stand taking my friends to South Beach. Hello, Cleveland. Fuck you, Clevelander."