sadness, but from sheer admiration.

After his meal, Jack noticed the wind picking up outside. A hurricane was brewing, and whispers of its name drifted around the bar. But everyone knew there would never be a Hurricane Jack; it would simply be too much destruction. Jack stepped outside, looked up at the swirling clouds, and the hurricane dissipated, deciding it was best to blow itself out over the ocean instead.

He then made his way to the outskirts of town, where he took a break on his trusty bear-skin rug. Except this bear wasn’t really a rug. It was still alive, lying very still, just too terrified to move with Jack lounging on top of it. As he lay there, he spotted a cobra slithering by. The snake, likely not informed of Jack’s reputation, took a bold bite at his leg. Jack gave the cobra a pitying glance. Five days later, the snake died of excruciating pain.

It was getting dark, but Jack wasn’t worried. When he walked into his house, he didn’t bother with the light switch. Instead, the dark scurried away, afraid to stand in his way. As Jack finally closed his eyes for a quick rest, his mind drifted to the one time he’d gone skydiving. When he landed, he had to make a solemn promise to never go again. One Grand Canyon was enough.