Flo Rida

Its homecoming 2007 at Clark Atlanta University and Flo Rida is caught in a hurricane of red and black collegiate memorabilia. Hours before his performance, the only other decorations in sight are four-foot posters of the recording artist’s manicured mug. But even without the grounds looking like a hall of mirrors, the

Miami-DadeCounty native would be feeling far from home — he’s caught out there in only a gray tank top, and Atlanta’s October breeze is brisk.

“We’ve been doing so much promotion, this ain’t the first time this has happened,” he says, referring to the luggage that vanished on the trip from Miami. “I’m losing a lot of stuff, man.”

The rapper, born Tramar Dillard, is used to packing bags. Hailing from Carol City’s notorious 37th Avenue Apartments, the former high school hoopster enrolled in the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, to study International Business Management. But after two years in Sin City, Flo returned home. Later that year, he decided to gamble on rap, catching a Greyhound to California with just $300 to his name. Flo’s stint in L.A. didn’t land him a deal, but rubbing shoulders with the likes of Devante Swing, producer Rich Harrison, and even Flava Flav proved to be invaluable.

“I learned what not to do out there,” says Rida, who keeps foul language at a minimum. “I didn’t want none of that negative aspect in my music. I wanted to learn things that would help my music grow.”

With urging from friends and a hard sell from Poe Boy Records CEO E-Class, Flo eventually returned to Miami and signed with the burgeoning label. His debut, Mail on Sunday, meshes Nelly’s nimble delivery and OutKast’s ecstatic energy.

“You have dudes who just might give you a section of music,” says Flo, now en route to the mall to replace the clothes he’s lost. “I want people to see me from a universal aspect — I have something to offer the whole world.”