You might just discover them thanks to the joyous serendipity of Google. From the Miami Herald:

John Hood sounds like a made-up name, and it is — like so much else about this fast-thinking, faster-talking, only-in-Miami character. Ex-con, ex-musician, ex-junkie, nightlife legend, cultural observer, writer and a guy who can work a fedora better than anyone born after 1950 has a right to.
The stories Hood has made up about himself, the stories he’s lived and the stories other people tell about him meld until it’s hard to know fact from Hoodlum fiction. One thing’s for sure — he’s got a talent for keeping people interested.
On a recent Friday evening, Hood sits in the lush, still-vacant Florida Room lounge at the Delano Hotel, waiting to start a sound check. It’s for an occasional cabaret act he calls Thug Sinatra in which he renders hip-hop hits in ’50s crooner-meets-punk-Tom Waits style.
”Have you ever read hip-hop lyrics?” he asks. ”They’re like Homer. Out Here Grindin, DJ Khaled? Virgil!” He pores over T.I.’s Dead and Gone. “It’s amazing, this guy is giving up his life, and he’s still swaggering. But if you don’t swagger on the streets, you’re dead.”
Hood is sporting a fedora and a tan pinstripe suit with red and gold tie, red and gold enamel cufflinks and red socks. In his current incarnation, he’s a busy freelance writer with columns for a half-dozen local and national publications including the trendsetting website Huffington Post.