So, time for another? Buy you a pint, swap you a joke, maybe shoot the breeze a while. I'll get you another.
Did you hear the one about the town down the road aways? Sprung up overnight, or so they say.
But there's nothing but road, down the road?
Yeah. There is nothing there. Not that I've seen; not that I have heard.
Well, they say the people all go there to die. Thousands upon thousands of them. They speak a different language and most of us don't trust them, you know how these people can be? But they tell of there being no food, no harvest, in the North-East, for two years. Now they're coming here to die. That's what they say. It hasn't rained for two years; and we thought we had it hard.
Why journey to die, though?
Why not? That's what they're doing though. During the journey many lose children, many children lose parents. Every night you can hear them, walking quietly; they always walk quietly, don't want people to hear them. They know they are unwelcome here; they sense how we feel.
Here, let me get you another. What's your poison today?
After a few days, you know, they all seem to have the same face. Like it's one person -- always a woman -- walking in endless circles.
That seems most apt. Where do they live assuming they make it through the journey?
They build lean-tos and bivouacs. They manage.
Did you hear the one about the town down the road aways? Sprung up overnight, or so they say.
But there's nothing but road, down the road?
Yeah. There is nothing there. Not that I've seen; not that I have heard.
Well, they say the people all go there to die. Thousands upon thousands of them. They speak a different language and most of us don't trust them, you know how these people can be? But they tell of there being no food, no harvest, in the North-East, for two years. Now they're coming here to die. That's what they say. It hasn't rained for two years; and we thought we had it hard.
Why journey to die, though?
Why not? That's what they're doing though. During the journey many lose children, many children lose parents. Every night you can hear them, walking quietly; they always walk quietly, don't want people to hear them. They know they are unwelcome here; they sense how we feel.
Here, let me get you another. What's your poison today?
After a few days, you know, they all seem to have the same face. Like it's one person -- always a woman -- walking in endless circles.
That seems most apt. Where do they live assuming they make it through the journey?
They build lean-tos and bivouacs. They manage.
