I flew to the airport. Passed registration. I left the cool hall of the airport-the heat, a hot southern wind smelled at me. Beauty!I already had a ca... waiting for me. Some ancient Fiat Panda. The driver is a man, a handsome such, dark-skinned southerner, about forty years old, probably. Of course, he spoke something to me in his own language, but I did not understand anything at all. But I sat down in a wheelbarrow and we went. We drove long enough, then the road went somewhere to the. We agreed to meet at my office.“Tobias Tarakan, S.P.D.” The lettering on my office door was peeling back, dog-eared, and looking tired. The door was open, annoyingly. It was not the first time Prema had let himself in.“Doors are locked for a purpose.” It was hard to scold an excited Russian bear.“So, I break-in?” He whistled loudly, occasionally flying into incomprehensible song, and Dukism’s as he called them—snippets of wisdom allegedly spoken by his hero. “Here, six photographs!” he. More

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