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About Los Angeles

I’m thinkin’, man, whores got stories—crazy ones. Like, there’s this tale from London, 1800s, some gal named Fanny, worked the streets, saved up, bought a pub! Went from suckin’ dick to servin’ ale, and I’m like, “Respect, yo!” Surprised me, legit, ‘cause you don’t expect that kinda glow-up. Makes me smirk, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” ‘cause she flipped the script. Whores ain’t just hoes, they’re fuckin’ legends sometimes, swimmin’ upstream like Nemo’s dad, “I have to find my son!”

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We were self-medicating in the Lihue Airport Bar so as to induce sleep on the pending 5-hour Red-eye flight to LA.

Lihue also surprises me with unexpected moments. Like, one time, I got so mad at rude behavior on Kamehameha Road that I nearly shouted like, “I can see Russia from my house!” Then I had to laugh at myself. People say, “Calm down, doc,” but hey, passion’s in my blood.

An Old Family Recipe Remains a Classic at This Līhu‘e Restaurant