Pardon me while I ask for another shot. Alcohol! But also at life because you lose everything when they declare you dead. Your wife. Your job. And they don’t care if it screwed you over, neither.

You’ll have to excuse me for my sunny disposition. After I came back to a man in my wife, I asked to be declared dead again, and that’s nothing compared to what companies think you owe them for the time you’ve been gone. That’s right! It seems interest doesn’t stop—even when you die. Greedy bastards.

And the longer I was out, the longer I lost it. Aye! Some say I never had it. Though now that we talk about it, I’m thinking more about it all.

I came back to nothing. Nothing! Goodness to grace, I’m really starting to think… no, now I know. I belong to it.

That’s right. I want to go back to where no one in the world knew I was alive. Where the sea spray washed my skin and left me upon some sandy shore in front of a bunch of green, coconuts, and endless sun. When you come back to the cold, you have no idea how much you miss the sun.