I was running a Peachong game (it's an old world game involving dice, eggs, and prostitution) in the alley of the chinese section of Mariupol when I was again snatched by the nap. A theme that now seems destine to be reoccurring in my adventures. This time it was a Chinese slave trader who shackled me to a small manchurian lad and tossed us into a barlap Sack and stuffed us into a barrel. Bukpung and I would be held that way intermittently for a few weeks which was most unpleasant for his pension for chain smoking. All that smoke in the burlap sack was making for an intolerable interurption in my reading. And I had committed to the continuation of my education at age eight month. At 1 yr and one month I was on schedule for testing out of university in another two months. But calculating the pitch of the ocean, wind speed, and angle of the sun, I imagined that University of Moscow was now going to be plan B.
