Godzilla 2014

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An audible disarray of hundreds of pairs of slippers, sneakers, and heels shuffle while mobile devices utter their faint and recognizable chimes.  The hot Hawaiian breeze is infused with senseless chatter.  The people, many.  The line, long.  And the solar beast in the sky is having a bake fest.  Note to self, bring a fucking umbrella.  Because it’s not raining.   

There’s probably better things to do on a summer Sunday but it beats the shit out of going to church.  Well, moving fifty feet in line within an hour isn’t too bad.  Although, I’m surrounded by spontaneous picnics, plastic five dollar collapsible stools and fold out beach chairs with the ever so needed umbrella.  A dapper man stands in front of me, dressed in neat business attire.  A balding Caucasian in his late 30’s, with black slacks and a blue striped long sleeve with proper briefcase and water bottle in hand.  A woman in her late sixties standing at an authoritative 5’2″, waits behind me.  Unknowingly tapping me with the edge of her pink floral print umbrella.  She is consistent in subliminally ordering me to move forward.  But my conscious mind wants to slap her umbrella silly.  Trapped between grandmas overly intimate shade stick and balding business man who’s now chatting up the hottie milf in front of him.  Sigh*.  Nice to meet you, My name is David, he says.  Oh yeah? Well my name is keep it in your fucking pants because for one, she’s with her daughter and two, we’ve got three hours of people line to stand in and I ain’t about to listen to you butter your potential while I fend off geriatric Mary Poppins.  That’s my given name.

A light drizzle dresses the screen of my Kindle.  I look up to glance at where the line has taken me and notice an urban mural.  Kaka’ako is abundant with urban art, but none so abstract as the one I stand before. At least in context.   A battle between a Great White and a rather malformed squid with the head of a trunk? My ignorance in possible six sided cubes comes to surface as I am perplexed to accurately describe the head of the squid.  The shark, less arduous, attacks with exposed innards being partially dissected by the cephalopod. It’s a speaker box.  The squids head is definitely a speaker box.

My admiration of the Shark vs Squid mural is cut short by grandma Poppins persistent umbrella.  I pay her a yawn and gently pet her umbrella aside.  David, going strong with the mac. The mural now understandably fitting.  The hoard of lemmings continues to grow.  The sun still blazing.  And now I realize, thank god I don’t have to take a shit.  That would suck harder than putting up with the umbrella percussionist and MacDavid.
Here I am.  End of the line.  Time to show the executives the pearly whites and time to give the pink umbrella the finger.  Good luck Mary Poppins and good luck MacDavid.  See you on the set of the 2014 Godzilla remake.

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