The longer you wandered from place to place, jumping on dry islands, the more you drown in the tears and shit swamp. You gave up your endeavor to try to stay clean. She notices few microbuses. There was a huge truck among them, the one that has driven her here. A western looking man chatting with someone with ob radio can be seen the street lights. He was hardly trying not to look at the old lady. Fair enough. A Desmian refugees crest trinket hang from above. The driver calmly played with his...