Our task ended in Eureka, Nevada, but Vegas was on the mind ever since we stopped that bus. Chad was down, so we parted ways with Boyd, with much brotherly love, and headed to Sin City for no particular purpose. Why does everything have to have a reason? It’s better to just be, sometimes or all of the time. Some are so busy with the future that they miss the present. And present we were. 

I taught my new brother from another mother the ways of minimalism and, to an extent, poverty. After several hours of searching for a decent, unoccupied spot, we finally set up camp in the massive gutters of the outskirts of Vegas. Luckily, I stumbled across a functioning faucet only 20 minutes away from camp that had a steady stream of water due to poor city maintenance. Just need a source--doesn’t matter if it’s potable.

Then we walked the strip at midnight, as one does, taking in the sights and smells and sounds. So many beautiful people. I busked for cash with my flute playing. The bodysuit and, at that point, surfboard prop was probably pretty eye catching in the desert, but not as much as Chad. In fact, all it took was a head-to-toe look at him and a couple of words to get us into a strip club for free with “backstage passes,” where I unceremoniously shed the wetsuit to suit up in a very different way and then learn some killer moves from him and some new friends. Growing up in the soulless upper crust, I was taught several forms of dancing. Stripping wasn't one of them. Our proceeds from a week at the club far exceeded our needs, even after we bought Chad some camping supplies (my gear was set up for only one). We donated the rest to a local homeless shelter before heading out to the chill, sunny beaches of Hawaii. Oh yeah, and in Vegas there was a brothel guy who kept trying to recruit us, but we turned him down because "Love should be free, bro!"

On our first day at Waikiki Beach, I borrowed a cheap board from a friend and tried to teach Chad how to catch some waves. It didn’t suit him at all. After a few hours we decided he’d stay on the land forever. He was a good sport about it though. And that works out better anyways given his preference for painted pants. 

What else? I busked a few hours a day for the moments when dumpster diving didn’t pan out, so that my bro and I wouldn’t have to dip into the shelf-stable supplies for dinners. One day a friend I hadn’t yet met came over with a ukulele, and we made a beautiful thing of it for several hours that caused the crazed tourists with their smartphone cameras and full agendas slow down as they passed by--even stop--and savor the moment. It was righteous, Divine even. Which reminds me, every time we lite a fuel cube to warm up a drink or make an oatmeal breakfast, we have a moment of silence for the innocent life lost to our hands.

Bonus: Kainalu taught me Hawaiian in exchange for surf lessons. The brohship expands!