On my last day in the park before a 10 day vacation, I planned to venture onto center stage again, but the big bubble man had beat me to it, so once again I set up on the path. And once again my first customer was a walkaway, of more or less spectacular dimensions. It was a 50-year-old stewardess who lived in Hawaii and her friend, who had neglected to buy her a lei when he picked her up at JFK.

“I can take care of that,” I said, draping a pink lei around her neck. She would not hula, but she did stand for a picture. She loved it that my uke was from Hawaii, and we discussed the awesome beauty of the islands, from Hilo to Hanapepe. I did a quick rendition of “Tiptoe through the Tulips” at his request, then entered into a long discussion of ukulele tunes from the 20’s and 30’s.

“We gotta go,” said the man. And go they did.

A mother-daughter team walked by. “You know how to hula,” said mom.

“Oh, all right,” said the girl of about 9.

While she danced, 2 babysitters encouraged the 3 toddlers in their charge to join in. This hula-paluzza spread out over the path, halting traffic. No one seemed to mind; out came cameras and wallets.

A Scandanavian-looking man of 25 or so walked by. Our eyes met and that ineffable aloha spirit passed between us. He stopped and plunked down a Sacagawea dollar.

“Have you got time for a hula today?” I asked two 30-somethings.

“No hula,” said one, “but could you play ‘Happy Birthday’ to Alyson?”

I could and did, for which I received a fiver.

A pre-teen Hispanic kid in a #5 Flacco football jersey, trotted down the path behind me and gave me a dollar. He had been seated on the rock opposite the bench on the hill behind me.

At the end of my set, a pear-shaped old man with a bald pate and in a tie-dyed teeshirt parked his cart directly in front of me and started taking out his easel and canvases.

“I’m leaving now,” I said, “so I won’t give you a hard time, but really?”

“No, no,” he explained, “I’m just rearranging my stuff. I’m done for the day too.”

“Okay, then I apologize,” I said. “But an awful lot of caricaturists have moved up this way. I thought they set up closer to Central Park South, by the zoo.”

“They do,” he told me, “but the city is trying to get us out of there,” he said.

I counted out $10.50, a decent enough haul in regular times, if a little light for this spectacular week. So “Aloha” for now; see you after Labor Day.