The Last Resort
You know, I think hammocks were invented by some diabolical trickster-god, one with a truly sadistic sense of humor. Every time I lie upon one the suspension rope breaks, or the anchor comes loose, and down I come, returning to the Earth which bore me with a sudden, sullen, but not to be understated thud. There’s nothing like the feeling of being struck with a planet to convey divine contempt. This fact, however, has little or nothing to do with our story. I, dear reader, am Horace. My last...