setting: christmas eve (for americans), morocco. in december, morocco hasn’t a lot of sunlight and it rains a lot. they started out at a friend’s flat in marrakesh. not far to the atlas mountains.
but now they are in the south of morocco, where even they have a kind of nomadic life. they haunt old villages and feel guilty about time and space and their presence. they meet incredibly kind people who give them food to eat with their hands.
it is christmas eve for americans. in m’hamid, it is the festival of the desert.
because their friend knows what’s what they have a tent only 5 minutes hike from the festival. they meet some other very cranky and rude americans whose tents are a 20 and 30 minute hike. this makes them feel a little superior, but still, one of the artists uses up the battery of his digital camera trying to take pictures of the inside of their tent in the dark and has no camera for the festival events; they all have cell phones and are bummed they can’t get proper reception; several of them snore; one of them goes to sleep drunk and pisses…stinks up the whole tent.
one of them has just said:
“i just don’t have any more patience for the god people in america. i used to have this endless tolerance because i thought i understood what they felt and why they felt it…but now i just want them dead. buncha christian fucks. is that shitty?”
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