Jasmine Mackerel

Awnings drooped listlessly in the oppressively hot night air, illuminated by the vicious neon glare of the lights and the headlights of honking, fuming automobiles roving back and forth just beyond them. Sanda squatted alone on the cheap plastic stool of the cheap plastic tea-shop, his tie hanging between his knees, sipping what was quite possibly cheap plastic tea and pondering his next move.

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