Smoke on the Water

It was early in the morning and none of us had slept well that night. Just after we had settled into sleep under the crumbling walls of an abandoned building near El Faro Beach a man walked silently past our clandestine campsite, stopped at the crumbled foundation of a building just meters from my sleeping bag, picked up a small package and left silently into the night. The Saskatoon Kid was unphased, strumming "Smoke on the Water" on his newly acquired pink guitar.