Who knew gomphrena was so heat-resistant?  Every other variety of plant was spent and wilted; only it and some shaded cleome persisted behind the benches.  A vine with small purple flowers wove through the rose bushes and twined south.  A single rose towered over green hips the size of cherry tomatoes.

An unknown platoon guitarist, who introduced himself as James, invited me to come back at 2, when he and I could jam together.  “If you’re for real,” he added.

“Oh, I’m real enough, thanks,” I said, “but I do a solo act.”

At Bethesda Fountain, Carole, the photographer, was huddled in the shade of a wall.  She told me the police had come by and cleared out all the amplified performers.  Indeed, the only busker I heard was a violinist by the water, who was later joined by another.  They sounded amped to me, but you know how violins are.  A 3-wheeled police vehicle was parked in a corner.  If the cops were around, they’d shut them down, which, 40 minutes later, they did.

It was hot.  People didn’t want to stop to hula.  “Has this group got time for a hula?” I asked the leader. They were day camp kids, many of whom were from Haiti.  As I handed out the leis, a skinny blonde of about the same age joined the kids and off they all went to the hukilau.  The day camp counselor gave me a buck; dad, who was from The Netherlands, gave me 2.

A little kid from a passing tour gave me a Canadian nickel.

A group of 3 young women sat on the bench and listened.  An older man, in Nick Carroway whites, joined them.  Together they sat through 2 more songs, then gathered their belongings, pooled the contents of their pockets and dispatched one of their members, with a handful of coins, to me, before walking off. Nick tipped his skimmer.

A Belgian couple with a young daughter came next.  After a short dance, dad fumbled with the change in his wife’s palm for a tip, while I told him how much I liked Belgium, especially the Flemish north, whence he hailed.  It surprised him that anyone in America knew anything about Belgium.  After hearing my description of a meal consisting of stewfleis and hutsepot, he said, “You have been to Belgium.”  He gave up his counting, told his wife to give me all her change and added a single from his wallet.

While we talked about Belgium, a Chinese girl, who had been sitting on the rim of the fountain, walked behind me and laid 4 quarters gently in my case.

Two Mexican girls from Toronto danced the hula and gave me a dollar each.  A Chinese couple gave me a dollar because their little girl did not dance the hula.

A woman asked how much for a lei.  “Two dollars.” 

I handed her a lei for the little girl standing next to her.  “One dollar?”

“Ten dollars,” I said, but settled for 2.

“How much?” asked a woman, pointing to a solar powered hula girl. “Five dollars.”  There was no haggling.  At the end of the day, on top of $7 for merchandise, I made $12.65 for spreading the Aloha spirit.

Around 2, I passed through Strawberry Fields on my way home. James was nowhere to be found.