Jack of Harts

I grew up in a nice house, on a small bay, on a beautiful lake in northern Minnesota.  I dated farmer’s daughters and ran from farmer’s shotguns.  I never knew any other life before Yosemite fell.  Since then, I’ve learned how the upper crust lives.  The grand houses, the balls that are more strutting than partying, and everything else that goes with being rich.  That world is ok to visit, but I don’t care for it.  All i need is a ship and a place to go to make me happy.