The Pale Garden
The port of Dar es Salaam moved with the heavy, grinding rhythm of a mill floor where the looms had stopped, the air thick with the salt-spray and the diesel fumes of ships that carried goods under flags that no longer belonged to the people who loaded them. It was a place of trade and betrayal, where the weight of a crate was measured against the weight of a lie, and Hovhannes Gelashvili stood...
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