MIAMI -- The old man opens the door and shuffles into the familiar room. The air smells of stale beer and discount brand cigarette smoke. The tables are taken by men with no names. They are all friends. They are all strangers. A different journey brought each of them here, to the pool hall on NW Second Avenue, but that doesn't matter any more. Their journeys are over. Most don't share the details, not even their last names. Some don't remember the year, or how long they've been coming. They have no past.
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