by Robert Leone
Duffy woke up in a room that smelled of disinfectant, supermarket flowers, and urine. A mylar balloon in the shape of a heart lay halfway deflated on the floor next to his bed. ‘Get well soon!’ it demanded in flowing red script. “Fuck you,” Duffy thought. Through the metal-framed window all he could see were clouds and a thin edge of treetops shivering in the cold. “This is no way to die,” he said out loud to no one. Continue reading
Hawaii Pacific Review 