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Crushed toast bread, carrots, some fennel and canned sardines. The sausage set aside for tomorrow. Eating silently; thinking. One or two shriveled plums. Spitting out the fruit stones. Once the headlamp has been mounted, a first layer of mosquito spray is applied. The Night comes; “Faserland” – land of fibers, buddhist and anarchist literature. Not much later, though, even “Jerry Cotton” becomes amazingly satisfying.

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Before crawling into the sleeping bag, a second layer of mosquito spray needs to be added. One’s head gets wrapped up with a T-shirt. A burning spiral on each side. The smoke makes it hard to breathe, but this procedure is necessary to get at least some hours of sleep.

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As soon as the spirals have burnt out, the second part of the night is approaching. The sleeping bag covers now the whole body – including the face. Just a small gap between the fabric to get some fresh air. Suddenly, a rustling noise coming from the outside of the overheated cave can be heard. Peering through the air passage. A dog is messing around with the food supplies. Accompanied by curses and swearwords, he eventually get’s chased away.

BROMANCE ON THE FRENCH ISLAND OF CORSICA

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