With your career behind you and a tiny pittance stowed away, the exciting world of freedom now awaits. The first course of action is getting rid of any tooling or manuals that links you to the past. Because of a small fortune invested in the instruments that earned you a living, the only sane thing to do is buy a sheet of pegboard and create a monument to yourself in the basement. Don’t forget to outline the shapes with a black magic marker because your memory is failing. As far as the 400 pounds of training manuals you’ve been given over the years, they will sag the shelves in your library and collect dead mammal skin (dust). They have a special place in your heart because someone sent you to a conference in a faraway city, in the winter, saving you from shoveling snow on a few occasions. They have never been opened since, but they stir memories of the sexy individual sitting next to you 27 years ago. These bound up dead trees will adorn your library, creating the illusion to others that you are an educated individual. The deception will last until your dying day when they all head for the closest exit, which is the fireplace in the room. Because you were cremated, it becomes a felicitous honor. Unbridled travel has always been the dream of working people. Now with time, loot and purpose, the goal is to stamp those passports full of exotic entries. First order of business is to withdraw 6 months of savings for 10 days of vacation. Like pullin’ teeth eh? After missed connections, Gestapo guards, lost luggage, pickpockets, rude people and sitting in 1 square foot of space for 9 hours with a baby screaming, the fun begins. Your reward is a foreign virus that takes 6 months to go away because you’re pathetically old. Coming down the pipe is a credit card bill with mysterious charges and a couple of camera speeding tickets that has your portrait in the driver’s seat of the rental car. After 3 trips you find yourself in a rocking chair and wait for death.