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Peter and Corinne were in the middle of nowhere, exactly in a jungle area of swampy soil lost from the God’s hand, translated into colloquial language: a shitty place. A green field full of spiked grass up to their ankles. The tips of those plants were put in an annoying way by all the parts of the body. Once upon a time, according to the local archives preserved in AngKor, that place had been a tobacco plantation. But Peter didn't care, a strong uncontrollable diarrhea had been lodged in his lower abdomen for three days. Water, food, or perhaps both were acting against him. Because of strict international laws he could not take his own canned food either. Then, he had to eat the swill he was served in Thailand.

"Maybe I've eaten a spoiled dog.”

So, with diarrhea and belly pains it's no wonder Peter was in a very bad mood.

“Shit. Fuck Marlboroach. Who sent me to do a report on the Great Plague of Smokers?”

Corinne didn't answer. Peter continued to observe her, although not precisely in the eyes.