So I decided to write the epilogue to this particular story first. Travel narratives in many ways usurp any and all attempts at suspense if the writer has indeed survived to relay the tale. He or she went off somewhere else and survived, not having been eaten by alligators, sharks, or cannibals. Said author now relates what happened in between, which — honestly as we humans are cruel by nature — is far less interesting had he or she actually been killed by alligators, sharks, or the occasional tourist-eating native.
The time here on the East Coast is twenty ’til two a.m. or nearly twenty ’til eleven on the West Coast, an adjustment which will prove quite uncomfortable come morning, but for now leaves me awake and inspired to pen this post with the purpose of announcing my return. Yes, Tiff, pictures will be forthcoming exhibiting numerous examples of debauchery, drunkenness, and in Dasad’s case sodomy. More to follow soon over the next few days . . .