A half starved dog crept slowly past the doorway, stopping to lift its head and smell the stale odour emanating from inside, before moving on uninterested.Ī handful of people were gathered inside, most sitting on the dirty wooden plank that served as a seat next to the entrance.
I turned, watching him leave, blinking my eyes against the sunlight. He scratched his belly, then scratched his balls, mumbled something unintelligible to the guy behind the counter, then walked out. A large man of about fifty, with white hair and yellow teeth, stood just inside the entrance. The door to the building was open, I could have sworn that the place had been abandoned for ten years, the facade was way beyond worn and faded. The dirt and heat are inescapable, it keeps you in a permanent state of fatigue. The landscape is barren, haze and dust, when you leave the truck the dust and sweat accompanies you into the bathroom. The number of the long awaited truck or at least the hazy silhouette, “Land Fall 49,” it was difficult to think, the infernal heat pressed down on me.Īramberri was deserted, a desolate spot, vile and corrupt. I was about to disappear in the shadow of the building, my back was hard against the wall while I was staring at the washed out colours on the bill board opposite.
