The Golden Cellar
Istanbul in the sixties was a city of rust and steam, where the Bosphorus churned gray under the weight of industry and the old quarters crumbled like wet bread. The fish market froze solid at dawn, its air sharp enough to cut the lungs, while the school buses idled on streets that smelled of diesel and rotting kelp. Kadir Koc, fifty-two, stood in the waiting room of the state hospital, his...
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