Ben Tennyson laid out in a hammock. The Tennyson clan was camped out in a trailer park someplace in Florida this time. They’d come for the water parks, but stayed for the car parts, or at least the spare parts. The Rustbucket had broken down, yet again, not entirely surprising, and the particularly annoying thing was that they hadn’t even broken down any place interesting.
They were in a swamp, a dull boring, run of the mill swamp. Well, they were on the edge of a swamp, it was Florida after all, all civilization was on the edge of a swamp, and trailer parks, as a general thing were on the edge of civilization.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if they’d broken down in town or something. Then at least Ben could’ve occupied himself walking around, hit some arcades, or hung out with some of the local kids. But they were in the middle of nowhere. Basically he had alligators, gnats, and mosquitoes to play with.