I Went to Honolulu and Found Most of It Missing

I went to Honolulu and found most of it missing.

The lead vocalist at the Blue Note in Honolulu wore a strapless black mermaid dress. It was like skin on her, fitted everywhere except at the chest, where her boobs threatened to overcome the hem.

“This song is the closest to my heart, so if you have two hands, jive along. Of course, I realize not everyone has them.”

Out of the blue she said that. Such attunement to different ability. Or had she seen the man on the balcony?

The day before the concert at Honolulu’s Blue Note, I’d seen a man with no arms on a balcony. At least I think I had.

He was standing on a balcony of an apartment building facing the highway, statuesque. Well built. No arms and two solid stumps jutting six inches or so out of his shoulders. Our tourist bus was stalled in traffic, unluckily; I was getting a good, long look at him. But the distance between us and that wavering, pulsing air and light of Hawaii made it hard to be sure.