This trip had been interesting. Simultaneously moving at a blistering pace but with a languid posture. This night I decided to go out shopping for gifts to bring home to the lady. I’d visited my local friend down the street again, went for another beach walk, and for a while there my eyes were pretty dry and red (forgot the drops from the other night). It’s always interesting hiding among people, trying not to subject them to your particular idiosyncrasies and decisions. Whenever there’s something about your face you’d rather not make a spectacle of, take advantage of cultural differences and congregate among Japanese. They have a wonderful cultural custom of not looking you in the eye all the goddamn time. Duck through from the beach to get out of the sudden tropical drizzle, choose a hotel known in Waikiki to be patronized mainly by those from the far east, and you’ll move through it’s lobby like a spectre. Just don’t mess it up by getting cocky or obnoxious. Don’t do that— be responsible. “Be good to the game and the game will be good to you” is what Filmore Slim always says.
I needed eye drops, a pen, and a writing pad. This ABC store was tripping me out— I expected it to be hectic and insane but this new-age, liquidy acid jazz was playing and the alien, detached feeling made me think I was in Japan again. I was swimming through this place, walking through Jell-O, like I was in the world of Toejam and Earl, bouncing along through the aisles.