piss pot

The run was amazing. We ran through the villagers’ town waving “Hello!” to all the children whose boundless smiles, despite their meager living shelters, warmed my heart to the core. We passed grazing cattle and stray dogs, through old sugar cane fields, near huts and tree houses, alongside the riverbank, through mushy quicksand-like mud patches, and orange clad humorous Buddhist monks, blowing the hasher horn the entire way. We arrived back at ground zero as the sun set to find a huge barbecue stocked with cases of Anchor Beer, baguettes, and Pringles.