Pikinski's gold tooth glinted with the last ray of the leprous sun as it sank into the Indian ocean. He imagined that he could hear it sizzling but quickly smirked at his own quixotic stupidity. Often while chasing horizons did he think back to that Turkish brothel where he was detained and threatened with that rusty, blade. Why did they let him live? And more importantly, what did they let him live for? He shiverd in the humid airs of the sanguine coast. Turkey would never see him again.

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