By Gregg Howard
I’ve been trying to get off this rock for months now! Sleeping in the park. Getting ripped off by tweakers.
Sometimes I do odd jobs. Sometimes I scrape hulls in the Pearl City boat yard. But save enough for a plane ticket? Hardly! It’s tough to find real work in a place where bartending gigs are coveted hereditary positions.
I keep writing my sister, my ex, my auntie, but so far nothing. If it was prison they’d try to help out; here I’m held hostage by the island’s reputation. Hawaii is not really paradise when you’re living in the Ala Moana.
I suppose any place can be either a prison or paradise–depending on how you look at it!