The Vikings are leaving for Cambridge Bay tomorrow. We'll rest for half a day and go to the garage to service cars. To the doctor to sort the products, to us – spare parts and gear. We will go in a day or two to the northwest in search of open water and adventures. In the hotel by rooms: Andrew, I am with the doctor, the household with Maxim and Boris, four tractor drivers in one cell. The weather is windy (mildly speaking), it's cold. An impudent arctic fox has settled under the hotel building, cushy job - next to canteen waste containers. In the evening, he was caught by Zaitsev's camera trying to get into our car for dekulakization. I couldn't open the door, and I didn't get out. We have plenty of food and we could feed the asshole, but environmental science restricts that. So, the warmth, light and kindness that our collective carefully carries in its calloused souls on our long-suffering, but still wonderful planet, will have to be given entirely to representatives of our species.
So it goes. VE