For two weeks I have been in a prisoner-of-war camp. This is a piece of desert surrounded by a fence with barbed wire. I spent my time walking from one side to another.
The watchman on one tower turned on Laskovyi Mai.
"Laskovyi Mai sucks!" I shouted and went to the opposite fence.
There I met Adolf and Hermann. We drank a bottle of sake.
"We were carrying heroin to Colombia, but we were caught," Adolf told me. "It would be great to escape from here."
"Escape is not a problem at all," I said sadly and wept, "but whither?"
"to Colombia," the answer was.