Stocky mom from Stockton. Hair without color brushed back and plastered
into permanence with what looks like spray-on epoxy. White accountant's
eyeshade, square green sunglasses. Built for strength: she'd be a Soviet Bloc
athlete if she were healthy.
Heavyset college-age man, straw-colored mohawk, straw-colored hipster goatee,
swept-back black shades. Slouched posture, seated in a black airport lounge seat
with one hand on each open knee, staring stonily straight ahead.
Mark Phillips, Waimea Canyon, Kauai, HI, 2004.11.27.
Some cities smell like diesel: this one smells like nicotine.
Sickly thin smoke-trails waft from half the fingers on the streets.
Butts on the sidewalks, butts in the planters, butts below the benches.
It's not just the Asians. The mainland tourists are unhealthy. They're fat,
sallow-looking. They can't walk, they can't carry their own bags, their skin
hangs and is yellowy.
They eat the cheapest, most fat-filled food,
queued on the sidewalks before Dunkin' Donuts and Porky's Smorgy.
Elderly woman, skinny arms and legs stuck into a bloated torso like pins into
a pincushion. Bent. Eyes on the sidewalk. She's on vacation in paradise
and she looks miserable.
On her t-shirt: "Las Vegas."
"Her uncle was a roadie for the Beatles. He gave her a show bill signed by
all four of them. Can you imagine? Each autograph is worth one
hundred thousand dollars. And she has all four."