Mugelkass was on vacation with his family at the beach. The wan Delawarean sun provided just enough light through the cloud cover that Mugelkass could read his book without straining his eyes. Bouvard and Pecuchet. His wife and son were out in the waves, no doubt gulping down saltwater and tiny stray strands of seaweed. Mugelkass put his book down and fell asleep. When he awoke, things were different. The book was gone. His son was gone, and his wife was gone. He had slept through the end of the world and come out the other side. Delaware looked pretty much the same. How had this happened? he wondered. Why didn’t anyone wake me for the apocalypse? Just then he heard a shout from further up the beach. It was his wife. “Honey!” she called. Mugelkass’s son stood next to Mugelkass’s wife; he waved and said, “Hey, POP!” Both of them laughed. Mugelkass frowned. “Where the fuck is my book?” he said. His wife waved it at him. “We wanted to prank you,” she said. “So we took your stuff and moved you to this part of the beach.” The son said, “It was tough, you’re pretty heavy, Dad. It was like moving a beached whale.” Mugelkass looked to the sky as if to ask what sins he had committed to be punished by his own family in such a way. “We’re definitely not going to Red Lobster tonight,” Mugelkass said, in what was perhaps the most authoritative moment of his entire life.