After I lock my door and walk to the front of the hotel I see it’s already pouring rain. By the entrance there’s a basket full of umbrellas, with a note to take one. I grumble again as I pull the collar on my shirt up around my neck and blow by them. Why are all the little touches so annoying? Can’t they just operate like a normal hotel?

The air is muggy as I make my way under the canopy of trees and in the vague direction Ken pointed. Of course, there’s no goddamn cell reception on this island, so I just have to guess where to go from...