Even a couple of days can bring change to the park. Flowering fuschia and begonia have been added to the beds, along with some low-lying yellow flowers I can’t identify. Walking to the fountain, I passed 35 portable toilets rented from a company called Callahead. A carnival was being set up on the mall, with booths for food, games of chance and a merry-go-round. The displaced acrobats had already taken over the western staircase, their boombox music thumping loudly, crowding out all other action on the plaza. Jim, the big bubble man, was packing up. “They kill it for all of us,” he lamented.

Meta was at her bench on the path, looking rather annoyed. Not only were the acrobats still audible, but more amplified music floated from the restaurant over the lake. The ugly construction fences had come down in the morning, revealing a new rowboat dock built out over the water to create a narrow lagoon. I walked to my spot under the maple and got a better look: a wedding or some other event was taking place. I returned to assure Meta that it didn’t look like The Boathouse music would be permanent competition.

Two boys with mom and dad were eager to hula. After thanking dad for a $2 tip, I asked, “Where’re y’all from?”

“Atlanta.”

“Was that the proper usage of ‘y’all’?” I was assured it was. As they left I said, “Bha.”

“Has this group got time for a hula today?”

The kids were wearing tee shirts indicating they came from the Bronx. Their leader hesitated. “Sure,” he finally said, “they gotta learn about getting hustled sooner or later.”

“No, no, no,” I said, handing out leis. “You’ll see, this is value for money.” At the end of the dance he coughed up $2, looking, I must admit, as if, maybe, he’d been a little bit hustled.

An older man with his young wife or daughter, a nanny and toddler twins, stopped his entourage in the shade of the mulberry tree in front of me. “Have you got any songs for strapping kids into their carriage?”

As he lifted them into the 2-seater, he struggled with wiggly legs and arms.

I started singing, “I can’t give you anything but straps, baby. That and a couple Apple apps, baby.” Click, click and the deed was done. The young woman gave me a buck.

Two teenage boys selling candy set up on either side of me, one at the crest of the hill, halfway between Meta and me, the other at the bend in the path toward The Boathouse, near the stairs leading under the roadway. They accosted everyone walking toward me from both directions. This hustle too, as Jim said, killed it.

I considered quitting early when a large group of kids from Southern California came by. Their leader was thrilled to have the kids hula and handed out leis to all who wanted to dance. At the start of “The Hukilau Song,” she danced slowly, urging the kids to stop complaining that they didn’t know how and to follow her. In the end, they did a credible line-dance resembling a hula, close enough to cause a good number of singles to show up in my case. Take that, candy hustlers!