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It’s not the alchemy of rockets!
The night can last twenty hours and even when the day finally breaks it never gets above a level of cold I call “fuck that”—as in you open the door, your face freezes instantly to the point where it hurts to speak, but manfully you manage to say “fuck that,” before turning round, and going back to bed.
My swimming might accurately be described as drowning sideways.
Where there were no streams they farmed rocks, with the occasional goat watching on.
