As I lifted my phone to take a shot of an open door, framed by an orange cone and a hand truck bearing a broom, at `Ahuimanu Park, I noticed a woman in the back, looking my way. She walked out: "This is not a dog park," she said. "I don't want to get in with you, but." Her worker's uniform was gray; even her boots were gray, and her hair was tending that way, though her face was young. I told her I just wanted a photo of the door, and she warmed to me a bit. "You can come in the storage area," she said.
She wasn't out doing things today because she had a headache. Inside the storage room I caught a glimpse of a mirror with an off-gilded carved frame. Took a photo. "You can't go in the back," she said, closing that door. "It's personal stuff." She wondered why I was taking the photos and what aperture I use. Taking a class at Leeward, I said. I live near here. "Oh, do you have that nice house over there"? I'd pointed vaguely in that direction. "Oh no, the townhouses." She perked up and said she goes there to find bulk pick up stuff. You know seniors die and there's nowhere to put things.
I asked if she know about the Free Store on Matson Point near the old Pineapple Hut. She shook her head. No, not interested in finding good furniture; she's in it for the hunt. Likes rusted shelves. "Funny," I say, "I love to take photos of rust. People think I take photos of beautiful flowers, but it's the rust I like." "For the patina?" she asked.
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