You've arrived in Hawaii. On Hanauma Bay beach you spread out a towel. There, in the distance, leaning against a palm tree, is that a native girl? Your watch beeps once: it is 15:59. Suddenly, the air is filled with the sound of squealing children, the smell of Mild Seven cigarettes, and burnt meat--yours.

©1998 Rudolf Helder / Honolulu Magazine

 

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Page revised on Sunday, August 21, 2005