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I asked if I could take a photo of the tattoo on his upper arm. "If you're into ink!" he replied. He'd been one of three or four men with the same last name on a battleship in the Persian Gulf in 1987-89; he pointed to several tattoos, naming each guy they stood for, starting with Jerry. All I saw was naked women, but what do I know? He held a crumpled Coke can (was that where the pakololo smell came from?) and listened to music the played from his open car.
He looked grizzled, but fit; his energy surged up and down some. From Arkansas, he carried the twang on his tongue, said he loved to go back to hunt on private property. "No wardens ever go up on that ridge, which was used in the Civil War." His Aunt Gracy owns it. He met his wife when he got back from the Gulf and their 35th is coming up. The family includes Snoopy, so I gathered there's a dog. His 20-something son's never given him much trouble, but the way kids act these days. 12 year olds now do NOT act like they did when he was 12. They have no respect.
When I told him my son was just sworn in as a police officer in Virginia, he said, "Good for him! I wouldn't do it." I asked how he got to Hawai`i, and he said his sister lives in Kona. Bought her house for 750K, but now it would sell for over a million. I told him that kind of money would get you a fixer upper on Oahu, and he honed in on the phrase "fixer upper." We appreciated the sun. He hoped things would start to dry out a bit. Lilith was missing, but I had a story.
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