Zaphod stepped into as foul a den of broken dreams as he had ever been thrown out of, and felt instantly at home. This is my kind of place, he thought. Even the air in here is dangerous. And it was. The germs huddled together and drifted through the murky air in colored clouds, trying vainly to infect the ossified zombies and demigods. For once Zaphod was glad that Left Brain had jabbed him with A–Z inoculations while he slept. At least LB had sworn they were inoculations. A cloud buzzed Zaphod’s head,
