...there came the time of the global village. And though this was represented as being the summum of progress, a media slogan come true, things were not devoid of mixed feelings...

For the global village was a hyperclone of the ultimate universal suburb. Each and every house had become an omen for ubiquity, an identical electronic hearth where each inhabitant was kept in his place, for elsewhere was defunct. Yet this was a time when all things far and near were just a finger's twist away. The world and all its offerings invited into the comfort of one's own cocoon, au revoir ignorance, adieu going into town to get things! Yet outside each front door was a foreign country. When the children came of age, they were given a set of the house keys and a GPS satellite navigational device, so that they would be able to find their way home in the dark, and not go stumbling into the neighbours by mistake. For this had become a big problem at this time. In one of those houses way down in the middle of the village lived a good old boy, who logged in as HL. The sedentary ailment had taken its toll, his body bore the rubbing sores that came of chafing about the computer couch. He knew that if this continued, his very spirit would whittle away to the core. But his email maydays to the system administrator were just bounced back with disdain.

So one morning before sunrise, he pulled on his boots, he crossed the threshold and crashed the firewalls until he found himself Outside, in the Forgotten world, with no way back, his only recourse was to send off vagabond postcards, sent from way beyond the web.