I have a story under two shit.
I had to rest, go to the bushes to write, cut off both legs with bottle pieces buried in the sand, apparently in order to punish people like me.
My friend, a gentle fairy who even gave a beach bag to a man, touched me to the campsite on the back. All my 60 kg! Like partisans in movies, honest word.
Nothing fell out and did not fall out, except one phrase "I and vodka can drink, and I can collect the closet, only why all know about it?"