Two faces in Waikiki (sans Lilith)

Walking down Kalakaua in Waikiki, watching tourists drift by and taking pictures of some of them, I saw a rumpled, gray haired, man approaching; he was staggering toward a curb. As he got there, he fell straight forward, off the curb onto the sidewalk, face first. Two security men appeared out of nowhere. A Japanese couple stopped, startled to see the man get up, his black-framed glasses thrown a couple feet ahead of him. Drops of blood spattered on the cement. His nose was bleeding, his right hand was covered with it. One security guard talked into his lapel.

 

A block or two farther toward the Diamond Head end of Waikiki, a young man called out, "Obama!" I told him he was the first person in Waikiki to notice my shirt, which is all I have before I find a Kamala Harris one. "Great president," he said. "My name is Barak, and I'm from the Holy Land." I asked if I could take his photo. After unsuccessfully suggesting that we take a photo together, he stepped back from shadows into the light, which didn't make for a good result. "Come into my store," he said, "I like you, and your shirt." After telling him that he could not sell me anything, I entered, sat in a black chair as he talked to me about the bags under my eyes. Did I want them gone? Did I want to look younger? I told him I had been younger, but feel ok with how I look at my age. He put a blob of skin color gunk on a big q-tip and started applying the goop under my right eye. I might need it on my eyelids, too, as gravity was operating there, too. He aimed a small fan at my face and started drying my under-eye. My skin would tighten, he said. No more bags.

He showed myself to me in a mirror, and to tell the truth, I didn't see much difference. Realizing that I could still offer him nothing, I said I would tell my friends about his shop. He thanked me; he's not paid on commission, but he could use customers. 

 

I never looked to see the name of the shop. But it's on Kalakaua, in case you want your bags removed. You might have to raise your windows, though (as he called my glasses).