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	DRUGS Spring Break is Still Decadent and Depraved -- and Awesome, Dude Try as it might, Fort Lauderdale can't shake some diehard seasonal partiers Kacey was blue. Not because someone had just awakened him. Not because it was 4 in the afternoon, and he was naked and confused. No, he was literally the color blue. His friends had drawn on his entire body with a blue Sharpie. [Full Story] A Drunkard's Prayer Will this couch go with my salvation? A South Florida operation moves furniture and damp souls. A mother and her adult son wade through the furniture store in Fort Lauderdale, a line of rainwater marking their path. They test every other sofa until the son settles on a mocha leather number with square arms. It's for her son's first apartment, the mother tells the salesman. Bobby Murphy, the salesman, is 55. He is tall and has silky white hair. He has the accent of his native Boston, but for now, he listens. [Full Story] Sobriety in a Bottle Is Prometa the greatest innovation in addiction treatment history or 21st-century snake oil? This is the old Mike Briggs. Curled up on the bathroom floor — convulsing, sweating, heart racing. Retching into the toilet. The whites of his eyes shot with red. Every part of his body aching. He wants nothing more than the one thing he knows will put an end to the pain: a shot of vodka. [Full Story] The Dying Light A neo-hippie art collective slams into the 21st century This is a story about failure. It's about a particular kind of failure — an American kind. It's about the failure of art measured in dollars and the failure it constitutes if there's no place in the market for art that can't sit neatly on a gallery wall. It's about what happens when Lumonics, a Fort Lauderdale art collective nurtured from roots in the drug-soaked 1960s, tries to make a belated debut and about whether it fails if no one notices. [Full Story] The High Life Two beautiful young women die in the same man’s apartment four months apart. From the top floors of the White Egret, a luxury condo building in north Fort Lauderdale, you can look out over A1A, over the palm trees and the sunbathers, over the foamy waves crashing on the beach — you can see all the way to the thin line on the horizon where the sparkling blue ocean meets the sky. It was in this building, in apartment 12F, that 20-year-old Casey DiStefano spent her last night alive. [Full Story]