Twenty years ago I gave my friend a tent. His character did not disappear. He seems to be an experienced traveler. Only chemical coal remains from the tent.
As it turned out, the comrades he popped with first broke the stands. They made fakes. Then they perverted, bound the carcass of the tent to the tree growing next to it. It seemed to stand.
It became cold. Burned inside the burner. It is forbidden to burn in closed rooms. But the spirit of survival and all the tomatoes... and then coincidence. The wind broke the curtain, and at the same time the burner fell.
From the burning tank flew a pesto. Two from the normal output, and apparently the most stubborn burn(!) A burning way out. So these ducks managed to gather a raft from the burned slugs, under which they stayed for two more nights.
And you, forgive me, the poser that you went to the park for the night.