Waikiki, Thursday, The wee hours
The guy, 20-something and fresh out of college, is working overnights at a hotel. It’s that quiet time of dark where it’s both too late and too early, and the guy heads outside for a smoke.
Once outdoors, a kid around his age–maybe a few years younger–approaches. The kid looks homeless and the guy assumes he’s looking to bum a smoke. Instead the kid strikes up conversation, small talk mostly.
A few minutes pass before another man–older and almost definitely homeless–walks up to the two. The man asks for 15 cents, says he wants to call his brother in Connecticut, so the guy hands him a quarter.
Recognizing the man’s transience, the kid pipes up: “Where do you sleep?” The man answers: “Wherever I can.” The kid is full of questions. “What do you eat?” “Whatever I can find.” The kid, doubtful, tells the man he doesn’t believe it. “I’m serious,” the man insists, quarter still in hand. “Really wherever. Sometimes out of trashcans.”
The kid immediately stands up. “I’ve got a few bucks,” he says. “Let’s go to Jack in the Box. I’m buying.” The man blinks, astonished and thankful.
And with that, the two strangers make their way down the avenue. Our guy, alone once again, watches them disappear into the night.
