My eyes are filled with tears, because of the smoke. The plastic-particles in the air are itching in my lungs. I am climbing this mountain with my two friends. The ground under my shoes feels funny. It softly cushions my steps, like fresh and loose soil, but I also tangle my feet every now and then. It is an awkward mass, this mountain of pressed trash. It consists of very different material and yet is an entity. A mountain of poison. Not only for the body, but also for the soul. And everywhere pigs! I think I have never seen so many pigs walking freely in the wild. Is that appropriate husbandry? I somehow start to understand, why some religions do resist to eat pork. If, by eating pigs, I eat what pigs ate, then abandoning might be a better choice.