Well, you walk into the room like a camel, and then you frown/You put your eyes in your pocket and your nose on the ground/…/’Cause something is happening and you don't know what it is/Do you, Mr. Jones
-Dylan
Better to ask Mr. Jones than Mr. Magoo, who couldn’t see anything anyway. The room we rode into was forty days long and we didn’t even know whether to dress for its hot days or its cold nights. But the worst came later in 1984, that famine year, when the harvest failed completely and those abandoned Tukuls we passed in February by December had become grave markers.