What am I doing here at this time of night? Clearly this is insane, isn’t it? What are the odds of me finding it? I shouldn’t assume so much. Trust my instincts so readily. Though, I suppose there are worse ways to live, right? I have my sneakers, my good duffle coat, this flashlight, this map, my stalwart hat and adventure—some fear as well I guess. But it could be worse. I could be lazing my time away, falling into pompously droll conversations, or perhaps just expressionless ones. I could have been attractive, I suppose, but to spend such hours on something so frivolous as looks when there is dirt and grit and the swarthy sea out there, well, never! No! I take it back, I regret nothing. The danger is hot and the air is frigid and biting, and I am heading out once again into the toothy maw of mystery-what. I am correct—this is insane! So ripe with uncertainty is this life of mine, that if I am not rushing from death, my hours on this earth are utterly wasted.
Now, I think I have some undertaking to do, and treasure to find.