I am writing this in a club toilet.
The bowl is cracked, and graffiti covers every filthy wall, even if it discusses classical text and the history of Germany. The cistern hasn’t got any water in, only more confetti and party string.
This far into the desert, time gets weird. I posted this this blog only three days after the last one, but I’ve no idea when the release date will be. The sand stretches to the horizon all the way round, and give little indication of distance travelled. Jean-Michel says not to worry. He won’t let us get lost.