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A hot noon with the sun shining down.
A fishing boat anchored in the harbor, pushing against foamy waves. The employees working at the port relaxed, checked the list, and walked toward it.
Shake!
Soon the door of the fishing boat opened, and a dark-skinned middle-aged man who smelled of salt appeared, scratching his stomach.
A port security inspector greeted me warmly and approached me.
“Welcome to Locke Island. What’s your name?”
“The ...
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