It was early evening, and the sky above Hong Kong was hazy with the mixture of pollution and moisture and reflected light to which they had grown accustomed. The trio wandered down streets and alleys until hunger called out to them from tables on a sidewalk. They sat and ordered bottles of beer and bowls of rice and pork and beef and talked of golden Buddhas and Barcelona and that dusty bar near the port where the cava costs a euro a glass and the bocadillos bring nothing but grace and satisfaction.
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