Chapter Twelve
I’m bodiless—so there goes my secret hope I’d see myself talking to Nero in his club, or elsewhere on Gomorrah.
Worse still, this isn’t Gomorrah.
Around me is a beach surrounded by an ocean that spans to the horizon on all three sides. Above is a perfect blue sky with fluffy clouds. Deeper inland is an idyllic-looking small town that seems to have jumped straight out of ancient Greece.
Continuing the theme of ancient Greece are the mouthwateringly good-looking men frolicking on the beach. They’re wearing the kind of skimpy outfits the Spartans wore in the movie 300—with lots of powerful legs, washboard abs, and bulging pecs on display.
They also look familiar for some reason.
I then notice that they’re all sporting a tan appropriate for the nice weather—all except for
