Filthy. The only way to describe the stench. It is a filthy smell.
Not many of them are left. Twenty in a four-man cell. Not many should be left.
I offered the captured loiterers the chance to call again. Do you want to die here? Like rats? Do you want to die?
These people have no money. I told oga yesterday. He shook his head and pointed at the door. We are policemen and must have money.
One remains. he’d die…
I stand guard of my empty cell. A new batch comes tomorrow.
I should get a different job.

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