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The junkies of the old Central Bus Station huddle together to sleep in the empty space of the terminal. They keep their meager belongings close to them: tattered blankets, shredded mattresses, cardboard boxes, bags, ragged clothes and syringes. Sami, the unofficial leader of the group, scurries about frenetically at midday, issuing orders to the other addicts. “I already filled a cart with good things...