La Casbah was an upscale Waikiki wine bar where only the chicest seemed worthy enough to tend bar and take drink orders. A cute young bartender with a colorful serpent slithering down a long, thin neck winked twice and smiled thrice (not that I was keeping count).
Taking a sip of an inconsequential chardonnay, I gazed through a nearby wall of patio doors to find a resplendent daffodil sun sitting high in a pretty Gatorade-blue sky. The shop-lined boulevard was filled with tourists eager to purchase souvenirs, hop on a trolley, or grab frosty drinks and/or treats.
“Do you see something of interest?” Ald asked as he tested an espresso, Jason, the waitperson, had just delivered with two macadamia biscottis. His head tilted to the left, then the right, before plopping a brown sugar cube into
