The Wistful Mountain
Chapter One The harbor at Tanjung Priok was a churn of rusted cranes and the low, constant hum of diesel generators, a mechanical respiration that never ceased even when the sun dipped below the horizon. In the shadow of the old warehouse district, where the air tasted of salt and wet concrete, I kept the boarding house that had once been my father’s pride and now was merely a ledger of unpaid...
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