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Updated: May 21, 2025
"Oh, yeah," Joe said. "Liholiho Street." The young beauty with the makeup was not at the Wailana the next morning. Joe ate a waffle and stared across the counter at the seat where she had been. As he reached for his notebook, he realized why she was sad. She was a perfect twenty-two, frozen in time; she would never be younger, more beautiful, or more beautifully made up to answer a man's fantasy.
In the past, he would drift around trying to write things, run out of money, and then abandon the writing in a rush to join a work group, pay bills, and pretend he was like the others in the group. It never worked out. He had to find another way. Late one morning, he was at the Wailana Coffee Shoppe when a young woman sat down across from him.
It was more than the woman's appearance that he wanted to capture; he wanted to know how he felt about her. Writing was a way of finding out. For the rest of the day, as he walked in the city, he fiddled with words, starting over and over. The next morning he returned to the Wailana. The beauty wasn't there, but he could remember her well enough to keep writing.
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