With treacherous speed I sink into the muck of the camp. Squealing and flailing away, I struggle to get my hands on a lighter pickax, for easier work lugging rails, for thicker soup, for even a tiny spot to sleep. Screaming inarticulately, I wallow about with the others, struggling to get at a carrot in the mud by the road; gnashing my teeth, I jump at every cigarette stub on the ground.
