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<\/a><\/p>\nI asked about the fishing, he told me he’d got jackfish, aku, in Hawaiian. He was the color of dark old leather and he had a bright smile, and his wife did too, she smiled under her pink hoody and wheeled a little blue ice chest to the car.<\/p>\n
The beach was empty. I picked up the sand and surf blasted partial skull of a cow, then I walked\u00a0 to the pool at the resort. It was empty until a couple of guests showed up, a talkative husband, a smiling wife, and then their friends including a woman with brassy red hair and a rattan visor. They’d been coming here since the 80s and Steve, the friendly husband, said that’s it gotten much nicer. “It was funky once. I mean, it’s funky now, still, but it’s a nice kind of funky. Then it was… you know, funky.” I laughed, I did know. “You know, back near Lihue, I met a woman who told me she prefers this side. She said it was more mellow. How could it be more mellow, I thought, but now that I’m here…” Steve laughed and his wife, Carol, smiled, and they got out of the water.<\/p>\n
They were going shopping for fish and I sent them to Ishihara’s, the market where I’d got wasabi poke the night before. “Go early,” I said. “It looks like they have nine kinds, but by the time I got there, around 5:30, it was all gone.”\u00a0 My neighbors cleared off and I floated in the clean blue swimming pool and looked up at the tops of palm trees, tall in the gray blue sky.<\/p>\n![\"Untitled\"](\"http:\/\/farm8.staticflickr.com\/7265\/8075033573_ba891dd736_z.jpg\")
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