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Mo dropped him off at the shopping center and drove into traffic without looking back. He took the escalator to the upper level and walked into Shirokya, drawn by Japanese muzak and pretty packaging. The Japanese were incapable of bad design, he thought. It was in their genes or something. Or maybe it was just that they cared.
He walked back to the hotel by a different route and fell asleep easily. Later that morning, he walked to Tops again and on to the Ala Moana Shopping Center. Acres of parking lot surrounded two decks of stores mainland chains and local names. There were fountains and sculptures, a mix of tourists and islanders, and, at one end, a Japanese department store named, "Shirokya."
He spent an hour in Shirokya admiring the packaging and design, listening to Japanese music, and feeling proud of the evident care taken with details. If you're going to do something, do it well. He crossed Ala Moana Boulevard to the yacht harbor where rows of large sailboats were moored behind a stone breakwater. "Salty boats," he said to a guy who was smoking at the end of a long dock.
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