The sun was beating down, and the haze of the morning's hash joints was beginning to fade, but I had barely noticed. The trail we walked curved artfully through the red sand hills, splitting fields and property lines of various local farmers. By now most farmers had headed in for a siesta, to avoid the brutal heat of high noon and sleep off the stomach pains of a morning of Ramadan fasting. The few still out tilling waved to our group as we passed.
There were 6 of us in total. Two Danes led the group . . .
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