Buffeted by the Black Shirts
Midway during my walk in Waikiki yesterday, I spied a raggedy, black-shirted unmasked man ahead of me on a narrow street. I safely turned into the main road and accelerated my pace so that I could get past him. Then I got back on the street, presumably home free. But as I continued, I encountered another slow-moving unmasked, unsavory looking man in a black shirt. Just as I began to reroute myself, I heard raving, garbled obscenities from the man who I had earlier bypassed. I hoped that his rage wasn’t directed towards me for getting ahead of him.
While I rushed forward a few wide steps in front of the second black-shirted guy, he too began to scream incoherently, again possibly at me. As I gained more traction, I saw a third black-shirted unmasked man further down the street where I was progressing. As I got closer, he stared at me and unleashed some vile gibberish. Whoa!
I had to end this increasingly surreal scenario, so I took a quick detour through a hotel parking garage that shortened my walk but salved my nerves.
I am fond of the mellow operatic voices of the Three Tenors. They far surpass the screeching of the Three Terrors.
schlomo