Decked out in a tight green speedo, Charles swung open his screen door, strutted down the three concrete stairs into his dilapidated back yard and was instantly wet.

The rain occupied every inch of sky. Somewhere there must be sun, but not in Indiana. Charles watched the clouds slumber in their beds, unmoving. Now was noon though, and soon would be two PM. These were prime tanning hours, and how, how, did Charles need a tan.

Hosts of elder-cruises were always tan, and this being his first elder-cruise, he was going to be a tan host. As an elder himself he'd lived through the depression, through various wars, various hardships. He'd eaten scrap metal for breakfast, built his own battleship by hand and weathered the technological revolution without touching a computer.

He could solve this too. Strutting again, he launched into his toolshed like a missile into a Pakistani cave, creating collateral damage wherever he went. He flung aside pools, lawnmowers and rakes, til he found it.

Fireworks. Lots of them.

Ten emergency blankets stitched to a frame and one match later and BAM, he was roasted brown, with a tinge of red.