At the break of dawn the next day, a man with a face full of wrinkles and sunspots, resembling an old herdsman, arrived on a tricycle. Speaking in a thick local dialect, he gestured until his intention was clear. He took a few carefully wrapped books from Correa's hand, glanced at them, muttered something softly, casually tossed them into the back of the vehicle, and turned to leave.
Clutching crumpled bills, he bought several packs of spices, two lambs, and a barrel of cheap alcohol at the market. Riding a tricycle, he disappeared into the wind and sand outside the city, ran for a day, and arrived at a desolate village.
"What is this?"
The villagers gathered around, opened the package, looked at the colorful patterns inside, and were greatly disappointed: "Not even a woman taking off her clothes, what did you buy this for?
Too hard even to wipe your ass with..."
