text: [Themes: Surreal]
  
  > Look around
  The immaculate fiberglass transom of your 45-foot yacht only highlights the hideous, scorbutic condition of your body. Fifty-eight days of nothing but carbohydrates, alcohol, and deep-fried poultry have come to this.
  
  You cannot speak, and you can barely move. You can only muster the strength to groan.
  
  You hear a tiny scrabble, as a waterlogged rat climbs out of the bilge pipe into view.
  
  > Appreciate rat
  As you ruminate on the merits of the rat -- so crafty! So furry! -- your vision blurs and you feel your perspective shift.
  
  The mountain of treasure piled before you shimmers with the casual indifference of unadulterated wealth. Torches burn in the wall sconces, contributing to the impression of an ill-gotten fortune.
  
  Sitting before his hoard in a gilded Aeron chair, whiskers twitching proudly, is a rat tycoon.
  
  > give the jacket
  (to the rat)
  The rat tycoon scoffs. "Oh please, I already have twenty of these. In fact, I own the factory that makes them." He beams. "It's very efficient."
  
  > get the wealth
  You sob a melancholy shriek.
  
  "This is the worst product pitch I've had to sit through in weeks. Who gave you time on my schedule?"
  
  > Appreciate rat
  This is not the 2010 film sensation Inception.
  
  Before you can act, the smell of the ocean fills your nostrils and your vision shifts again as the hallucination expires.
  
  The immaculate fiberglass transom of your 45-foot yacht only highlights the hideous, scorbutic condition of your body. Fifty-eight days of nothing but carbohydrates, alcohol, and deep-fried poultry have come to this.
  
  You cannot speak, and you can barely move. You can only muster the strength to groan.
  
  > Groan
  You shriek a dismal yawlp.
  
  With a loud caw, a seagull alights on the aft railing in front of you.
  
  > Appreciate the seagull
  As you reflect on the merits of the seagull -- so confident! So feathered! -- your vision blurs and you feel your perspective shift.
  
  The candlelit taproom smells of liquor and cherry-wood. Dignified in her barkeep's apron, your seagull wife swabs the surface of the bar with a feathered wing.
  
  One look and you know she's a loving, caring wife who can carry her end of a conversation.
  
  > give the jacket
  (to the seagull)
  She eyes your jacket with skepticism. "That won't pay the bills," she caws. "Nothing will."
  
  > talk to the seagull
  You emit a piteous sob.
  
  Times may be hard, but you swore to love each other for richer or for poorer, and she is a gull of integrity.
  
  Taking flight over the bar with a single flap, she lands at your side and cradles your head under her wing. For minutes, you sit there together in silence. As she hops back, you feel the gentle poke of a wing feather caught in your captain's jacket.
  
  > examine the feather
  It smells uncannily like love. Well, love and seagull.
  
  "I just don't know," comes the frustrated coo. "What more can we do to attract customers?"
  
  > wait
  Time passes.
  
  Before you can act, the smell of the ocean fills your nostrils and your vision shifts again as the hallucination expires.
  
  The immaculate fiberglass transom of your 45-foot yacht only highlights the hideous, scorbutic condition of your body. Fifty-eight days of nothing but carbohydrates, alcohol, and deep-fried poultry have come to this.
  
  You cannot speak, and you can barely move. You can only muster the strength to groan.
  
  > Groan
  You wail a tearful sob.
  
  A chance look at the ocean reveals the corpulent outline of a surfacing manatee.
  
  > Groan
  You discharge a dismal wail.
  
  > Groan
  You shriek a dismal yawlp.
  
  With a deliberate flap of its platter-sized forelimb, the manatee sinks back into the deep.
  
  > Groan
  You shriek a grotesque keen.
  
  > Groan
  You let loose a pathetic moan.
  
  > wait
  Time passes.
  
  > Groan
  You cry an attention-seeking sigh.
  
  You hear a tiny scrabble, as a waterlogged rat climbs out of the bilge pipe into view.
  
  > Appreciate rat
  As you reflect on the merits of the rat -- so resourceful! So thrifty! -- your vision blurs and you feel your perspective shift.
  
  The mountain of treasure piled before you shimmers with the casual indifference of unadulterated wealth. Torches burn in the wall sconces, contributing to the impression of an ill-gotten fortune.
  
  Sitting before his hoard in a gilded Aeron chair, whiskers twitching proudly, is a rat tycoon.
  
  > give the feather
  (to the rat)
  The rat begins to sneer at the feather, but then pauses. He sniffs the air. "This... this feather smells like love. True love. Clearly it is a treasure to you." His eyes become greedy. "The feather must be mine."
  
  Turning around, he fishes in his treasure pile, pulls out a large bag of money, and tosses it into your lap. "Take this instead, buy yourself a new soulmate."
  
  > examine the bag
  The clinking of coins inside reminds you of your own money-pile back home.
  
  With studied indifference, the whiskered prince of business hefts a crystalline chalice. "Feh. About as much emotion in this object as there is in my multinational corporation's mission statement."
  
  > Groan
  You bleat a horrible lamentation.
  
  With a loud caw, a seagull alights on the aft railing in front of you.
  
  > Appreciate gull
  As you meditate on the merits of the seagull -- so loud! So gregarious! -- your vision blurs and you feel your perspective shift.
  
  The candlelit taproom smells of liquor and cherry-wood. Dignified in her barkeep's apron, your seagull wife swabs the surface of the bar with a feathered wing.
  
  One look and you know she's a loving, caring wife who can carry her end of a conversation.
  
  > give the bag
  (to the seagull)
  At first, she can't believe it. Her beady eyes dilate, and her crown-feathers ruffle in surprise. "Is that... for us?" Defying biology, a tear rolls down her seagull cheek.
  
  As proudly as you can muster under the circumstances, you nod.
  
  "Let's celebrate!" She clutches two of the tavern's finest microbrews in one claw, and walks around the bar to your side. Handing you a bottle, she chirps in your ear: "Someone's getting lucky tonight."
  
  > examine bottle
  Cisco Brewers' The Grey Lady, named for the often foggy island where it is brewed. This wheat beer is fermented with Belgian yeast and brewed with fresh fruit and spices. A unique ale that emits a complex, earthy nose and a soft, mid-palate maltiness with hints of tropical fruit. Dry and spicy.
  
  Your seagull wife taps idly at the cash register with her beak. It springs open, empty.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a microbrew
  a jacket (being worn)
  
  > Groan
  You emit a piteous sob.
  
  A chance look at the ocean reveals the corpulent outline of a surfacing manatee.
  
  > Appreciate the manatee
  As you reflect on the merits of the manatee -- so massive! So calm! -- your vision blurs and you feel your perspective shift.
  
  The smell of citrus awakens long-dead senses, as a gentle breeze wafts through row after row of orange trees in fruit. The wind only somewhat irritates your inflamed gums, so that's an improvement.
  
  You can see some trees and a manatee farmer here.
  
  > give the microbrew
  (to the manatee farmer)
  "Now we're talkin'!" The manatee positively leaps with excitement, to the extent that a manatee can leap.
  
  "S'pose it's only fair you get somethin' in return." Ponderously, the farmer stabs the nearest orange with its pitchfork, then tucks the fruit into your jacket.
  
  > eat the orange
  With just one bite, you feel life-giving Vitamin C begin to course through your veins. It won't be long before you're back on land, resuming your life as a wealthy yacht-owning layabout.