With his recent rise to stardom, Elvis was constantly on the move. City after city, week after week, it was both a joy and a struggle to perform and then change location. He went from New York to Boston to Houston to Los Angeles, and with the setting came the change in people and culture.

And so he finds himself in Hawaii, set to perform in Honolulu. He exchanges his long-sleeved blouses for seldom-buttoned thin short-sleeves, his jeans for khakis and shorts, and let himself get a little tan.

He walks on an almost-empty beach, nothing but his thoughts to distract him from natural beauty. The sand envelops his feet as he walks, the palm trees above casting just enough shade onto the Earth as the sun swelters and beams down on him. He glances to his right: the waves crash onto the shore, emulating a pulse, the ebb and flow of Mother Nature herself.

His shirt had long been forgotten, left by his towel and shoes, and he now walks shirtless with his shorts. His hair has broken free of its gelled captor and flows and flutters in the breeze. His skin is sun-kissed and the chemical smell of sunscreen sits on him as his skin shines with sweat.