20 minutes walk to the next shop, I am unsure of my progress. Every day, at 12 and 18, reminders are broadcasted through the speakers. This morning, the three megaphones (attached to the pole that stands towering over the shrine next to house nr. 6) issued reports in a language unknown to me. With no one to talk to, the sound of thoughts buzzes against the inner surface of my eardrums, I wonder if they could escape the same way sound enters my ear. Hole in the skin. A storm would continue off and on through the night, until the next afternoon. The morning precedent, the warning tunes echoed through the valley, comprising small farms, iron huts, the shrieks of crows and a view more mundane by the day. The moths are trying to enter, since I have gotten rid of the mosquito net. The mountain hovers over us, apparently this city still sees snow every year.