        He rubbed his hand thoughtfully over his chin.  He was, by his best estimate, about halfway—he could hardly see any features on land.  A small backpack by his feet contained his essentials, and he reached inside and took out a sandwich.  The bread was a little soggy, and the cheese had slightly melted from the heat, but it was still filling.  He washed it down with a bottle of Gatorade, carefully stowing the rubbish.  He might be in the middle of nowhere, but that was no reason to litter.