Day 2,093

The tent was little more than two concrete slabs propped against each other with a tattered sheet of tarpaulin nailed into it but it was better than facing them under the bare sky. As people came and went they left little pieces of themselves inside until it gradually became a shrine to those who headed out to the coast.

Someone had brought in a mattress, bloodstained and lumpy but preferable to the cold, hard dirt. Someone else left torn up rags, barely used but good enough for bandages in a pinch. When I was there I left a few sample bottles of perfume - they may have been a luxury once but now they were scent bombs.

It's funny how we develop new rituals like always leaving something behind, never taking the last of anything and sleeping with your shoelaces glued in place to they can't be tied together by the strangers around you. There's always one person willing to let you die in their place.