It wasn't all that difficult to remain a person of interest, that is, if there were interesting things afloat. Mostly, it was a lot of wasted time gossiping and shooting the breeze with small talk, some of it quite amusing. Another day on the beat.
Who would've thought that the couple would end up like that but yes, they were well on their way to ruin, end of the road, even though it was all so beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful place in the world: Waimanalo.
I said I would report further but that is not enough. To give the facts, well, o.k., they are sad enough but sadder is the endless cycle involved, the depressing rut of it ending in early death, incarceration, abuse. All of it easily (?) avoided? Here in the archipelago, it is a common story so why does it hit so hard? Because these particular people seemed smarter than that. Were smarter than that. Instead of food and beauty, beauty and food, something else must be ingested over and over again. Something beyond the ocean, the reef, the hours, days spent fishing, spent listening, squinting, waiting. Beyond simple pleasure.
It was there they set up a VCR so we could watch the latest James Bond video on the beach, under a canopy, tucked up under some trees but right in the sand, soft there like powdered sugar/oatmeal mix. D. put down a rug, he was so generous. I guess that was before they got heavy into ice. I thought they were real nice because we gave them our tent spot. It was drier there. It was protected. They were doing vodka shots and some pot but since O. and I were sober, we just watched the movie and called it a night.
I was glad my Waimanalo days were past. I did not have the feeling that I'd again relax on the beach with a television. That was not why I had traveled there. I guess were were in some one's living room, with Rabbit Island right across the way.