If paradise had a soundtrack, it was the quiet crash of waves, the whisper of palm fronds, and the faint squelch of decomposing feet in the sand.
I sat with my legs kicked up, a frozen drink in hand, sunglasses I definitely didn't buy perched on my nose, and a mutated zombie waiter standing patiently nearby with a tray of tropical fruit. His jaw was slightly unhinged from his beachball like head, his eyes milky white, but he wore his bowtie with pride. One of the pineapples on the tray even had a tiny umbrella in it.
It was so cute that I couldn't even be mad at it all.
I know the guys had the best intentions for me. The moment I came back from the small dimension I had built Marc, they huddled around me like they thought I would bring about the end of the world.
Again.
