It's hot. It's so hot that one does not even know if it's better to walk or to stand still, and is it better fall asleep or to just try to think, though. It's a long way to the mountains. For this time you can sit down for a while and the nightmares will come just as they wish, unwelcome. They arrive, sore and cut, secreting smells and liquids, web- eyed, with hair in stunning colors. They prick ears with scenic hiss, making the body bending into the manneristic ideogram. and invariably there appears irritating ratter with its typical, priggish and everlasting aim of gnawing the aorta. And what a dullness, anyway. Expected assault of so predictable demons. But somehow the visit of these particular guests does not remain without impact on a poor nomad's head. He wakes up with the straps untangled, with his head aching and nose bleeding. He says himself Move your ass and moves it, trying not to sit down for the next twelve hours. There is always an explanation for this penalty, nothing happens without reason, eventually. What a misfortune, and that it had to happen just today. On the other hand, what a picturesque dream, attractive massacre. Oh, to burst, having forget that the damp on both sides of cuticle scarcely is the beginninig's rudiment.