I often leave the beach hut late at night just to get away from the computer screen and get some fresh air.  I’ll pick up some pineapple from the corner store and stroll around while I eat it, taking in the sights and sounds of Waikiki.  There are always many characters to be found: the tourists, the street performers and vendors all trying to make a buck, and let us not forget those ladies of the night.  Like any other popular tourist location, they are abundant if you are looking, and pretty obvious even if you aren’t.  I’m positive some of them are not ladies despite their and Mary Kays best efforts, but you deserve an ‘A for Effort’ boys.

One night during one of my strolls, I happened to turn-off one of the major avenues (to return home) and wandered down a mostly empty street.  I say mostly empty because there were at least 3 other people on the street with me, all three of them prostitutes.  I won’t spend any lines here justifying why I looked at each of them (they were the only other people on the street!), but it only takes a glance to discern the workings of the caste system in the kingdom of whore.

One was ugly.  Not just unattractive, but ugly.  The kind of ugly that not even her mother would feel comfortable lying to her about. She was out by the curb in plain site of everyone who passed by, cars included.  The second was halfway between the bank (convenient location, just in case you don’t have enough on you) and the curb.  She was unremarkable, nothing to write home about, just your average Jane prostitute.

The third, was leaning against the bank wall.  She was set furthest from the street but stood out the most.  It could have been because of the way the light placed above the ATM hit her natural golden locks as she chewed her gum (I bet it was one of those unpretentious gum brands, like Trident Xtra Care).  Or it could have been because she was gorgeous. She was the kind of gorgeous that you don’t even bother looking at the tag because you know they charge you to look at the tag gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that deserves it’s own paragraph.

As I walk by, my attention is focused on only two things: 1) See paragraph above, 2) Making sure that the next 50 steps are not any of those in which I trip over my sandals with the lazy shuffle that I have while walking in Waikiki eating pineapples because tripping and falling in front of tourists is fine but I’m not sure how I feel about tripping and falling in front of 3 pros.  As I pass by, the second woman poses a point of personal inquiry directed towards me: “Hey honey, do you want some company tonight?”

This was standard procedure for her I’m sure. She delivered it well, it didn’t sound over-rehearsed, but I could tell she had asked the question a few times before. I don’t know how people ‘normally’ react, whether they ignore it, say ‘no thanks’, giggle and ask what the going rate is.  What I do know is that I responded without missing a beat: “Ideally, but not from you thanks.”

Really?  Did I really just drop a hint to a professional limited-time companion that I would be down with some company, but just not from her?  Way to insult her.  For the 10 minute walk back to the hut I convince myself that I meant ‘ideally’ from someone who I love and cherish, and not that I was just bitter that the hot whore didn’t ask me.

I just got done washing the dishes that had piled up for a day or two.  I don’t know what it is about water, but whenever I am around it, my thoughts start flowing.  In the shower, washing dishes, floating in the ocean, sitting near the base of a waterfall, it doesn’t matter really, if there is water around then the thoughts refuse to stop.

I remember one day sophomore year of college at the end of a long day, I went into the shower and lost track of time.  I was in there for probably 40-45 minutes, and the entire time I was coming up with a jazz bass-line in my head.  It’s important to note that I knew relatively little about jazz music going into that shower, and that I was in the shower alone for the entire duration.  It took me another 40-45 minutes to transpose what I had come up with onto the bass (with healthy portions of help from Paul of course).

What really bakes my noodle is that water is usually what I look for when I want to feel refreshed and clean.  So every time I get into the ocean, or the shower I am making a huge compromise.  My outside gets nice and clean, organized, refreshed, purified (stretch much?), and inside everything just gets that much more cluttered and noisy, muddied and disheveled.

This is my excuse for being dirty and smelly, what’s yours?