..." My lips kept moving but no sound was coming out.I'm a we'll-spoken, articulate person, but I don't handle confrontation well. My thoughts sort of...freeze up on me sometimes, like some of those chat boxes on the internet.He gestured slightly with the cigar at the yellow legal pad in my lap, "Write these down. Juices, we already said that one. And add 'dancing.'" Dancing," I mumbled as I wrote."No more 'dancing eyes,' or 'our tongues danced together this and that' shit."Sounds like a fucking. I turned the car out of toward another nearby yet somewhat public place. This was a school that fronted the canal that runs through Waikiki. There is a little jogging path along the canal, and by it there are benches and other well-lit areas. But this school also has a little garden that is between the schoolyard and the jogging path. We walked along the path a bit. There were still people out jogging, walking, hanging out. We came to a bench and sat down. We waited a bit until the foot traffic. More

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