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When the rescue helicopter finally spotted the smoke from his campfire, the scouts looked down in disbelief. They didn't find a broken man. They found Miguel Ángel Revilla holding a town hall meeting with a circle of capybaras.
Revilla sat on a fallen log, swiping through the EPUB on his screen. "In the jungle," the text read, "one must respect the hierarchy of nature."
As they lowered the rescue harness, Revilla paused to finish his chapter. He tapped the 'Close' button on the tablet and tucked it into his vest.
I can to be as funny or as dramatic as you like!
"Well," he told the lead rescuer as he buckled in, "the scenery was decent, and the audience was more attentive than the Senate. But God, I’d give my soul for a glass of lebaniego wine and a plate of rabas."
He spent the first night building a shelter out of palm fronds, grumbling about the lack of decent stone. To keep his spirits up, he began reading his own words aloud. His voice, raspy and rhythmic, echoed through the canopy. He spoke of the importance of local products, the decline of rural life, and the absolute necessity of a good tin of sardines. Strangely, the jungle listened.