The old people you are talking to never seem to have memories that stretch past the 1980's. You then find out these people are not so old. You have been talking to folks in there 40's and 50's and thinking they were 70+. That's what this island does to people No teeth. Yellow folded skin. Thin frizzy hair. The air sucks all the life out of a person. You wake up sick every morning. You can hardly eat or drink anything because everything smells and so by default tastes like acidic vomit. Like deep fat fried bile, but more bitter. You can't stand it here. You would rather get caught by the law then spend another day here. You decide to leave. But the bridge is out. The only other option is to sit on one of those catapult chairs and get flung to the tarps on the main land. You do it. It is really fucking scary! But it only costs three dollars a fling. You have your suitcase and guitar in its battered case flung over first. They make it. Your turn. The Man preps the gear and flips the switch. You are flung hard in an arc over the deep bubbling moat. But a vulture happens to be flying over and you slam into the over-sized bird on the way across! There goes most of your momentum. It is clear you shall not make it to the tarps! You slam into the corroded rocks like line the other side of the moat with a sound like branches inside a crusher. You bleed out on the rocks. As you die you think even this is better then spending another day in Bubbling Vomit Land. The end.