I am out of cigarettes, clean clothing and any way to contact the goat beast Baphomet.

Maripric has made herself unavailable and I feel something horrible might have happened to her. Alack, I can only imagine the eldritch horror of facing one’s mother, of all things. Dear Silvia is also Missing in Action, or in other words, “probably dead.” Truth is she has been put on a bus to her hometown. I am jealous.

I, a wretched city boy, have little interest in our filthy capital. Many claim to love her, but given her unfortunate face, I doubt their sincerity. Perhaps they are just being polite. Objectively, Lima is hardly better than a shanty. But we live in “uncertain times” and people are allowed to say anything. Theoretically, they are also allowed to say that Lima is a wonderful place and whatnot. Why they would actually do such a thing is beyond my comprehension.

But who am I to pick and choose? I have been wearing the same trousers for the last two or three days. I suppose I may correct this in the morning, when I have showered and purchased some treats for me, myself and I in the shape of gold-white deathsticks.