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The rank meat had turned a dull brown overnight. Although not a rare commodity in this state, he knew he had to sell it soon or not even the most starved would buy his load. He sat on the street curb beside a cooler with the lid propped open, flies buzzing the opening. When he coughed, he blamed the dust stirred by the passing taxi. When his head ached, he blamed the midday sun. He would be dead within the hour, with nothing to blame but himself.