Rick, you’ve been right on one thing, perhaps one only. Not yours, but I am an African Cur. I’m African back 111 generations. Africa is my marrow. I cannot leave Africa, anymore than I can shed my bones.


But you’re already in Spain, and practically in France, dumbass.


Ah. Africa begins at the Pyrenees, my parochial friend. Perhaps one day norteamericanos will become as smart as they think.

And now, you take your flying machine, and your fat Norwegian.

I shall stay here. Timoteo and I have work undone and responsibilities.

RICK and ZUP board the latter’s Aeropostale plane.
ALCOTAN and TIMOTEO walk across the airfield, through the goat fence and begin their ascent of the glacier into France.

say something nice ... or not

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