a cure for the common block


The haole extended his thumb and little finger while curling his middle three and waved the shaka sign at Kawai. Behind his sunglasses Kawai rolled his eyes and pretended not to notice. The problem, he lamented, with living in a paradise with beautiful weather virtually year-round is the constant swarm of tourists. His friend Scott paddled in and carried his board to shore; he was a haole that moved to the Big Island a few years earlier, but was quickly accepted by the community. When he first arrived Scott only ever introduced himself as “SB” until someone finally asked what that stood for, to which Scott responded by lifting his shirt, slapping his very white beer belly and shouting “Shark Bait!” eliciting howling laughter from everyone in the bar. The waves were trash and they were going to give up when Kawai got a call from his Uncle Kai, who knew every secret surfing spot on the Island. For hours they surfed waves no higher than a couple of feet, but were by far the best either Scott or Kawai had surfed in years.

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