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 here.
Up ahead I see a building with glowing lights and can make out a neon fish on the roof. That must be the place. When I get closer I see the place is basically a shack. The door has been propped open with a few pieces of driftwood, and music is blarin
