Nobody saw Hina fall out of the moon and down to the earth below. She landed in the concrete parking lot of Club Rock-Za, between a red Volkswagen Bug and a white Monte Carlo. It was an unusually wet night, even for winter, and so the neon-lit hostess clubs, strip joints, and sports bars of Kapiolani Boulevard were nearly deserted in the torrential downpour. A storm bank blew in from the west and cried rain for three straight days. The falling water danced in the yellow glow of lonely streetlamps; it exploded into a thousand shards on rooftops and sidewalks; it cascaded through the gutters, and into the gaping maws of the waiting storm drains
