Aloha from “my island.” I don’t want to give away too many particulars of my location because I like how few people are actually around.
It’s amazing out here. A ten minute walk for coffee in the morning will give you a gorgeous oceanfront experience. I am sheltered from the bulk of “mainlanders,” the good-natured jab locals call tourists. There’s basically no one within thousands of miles to piss me off.
Speaking of the locals, they are incredibly nice. I shot a rooster the first night here with a defective sense of time because the fucking bird was cackling at 3 am—well before sunrise. Much to the chagrin of my in-laws, we ate that little bastard for dinner. Since then our neighbors—I’m assuming this—have left two dead chickens on our porch each morning. Such hospitality!
There’s a bakery here that serves Portuguese donuts. Way too much sugar for my taste, but if you ever get the option to try one, don’t pass it up.
Also there’s a fantastic place to get “poke,” a sort of deconstructed sushi, called the Poke Stop. It also happens to be a Pokestop in Pokemon Go according to my nephews. You can’t get more American than a place where you can get good poke and catch Pokemon in one stop!
No arguments regarding pronouns around here. No discussions over bail reform. Not a whisper about Title IX. Everyone gets along and no one’s called a “fascist” if they happen to be disagreeable.
This might be where I come one day to disappear for good.
One final note: I took some time to search for our friend David Meyer-Lindenberg while here. Unfortunately, the locals tell me unusually large Germans rarely visit the island. The search continues!