se　they　haven’t　yet　had　the　opportunity　to

snuff　out　a　life。　It’s　hard　to　believe　that　most　men　are　more　moral　or　better

than　me　simply　on　account　of　some　minor　twist　of　fate。　At　most；　they　wear

somewhat stupider expressions because they haven’t yet killed； and like all

fools；　they　appear　to　have　good　intentions。　After　I　took　care　of　that　pathetic

man；　wandering　the　streets　of　Istanbul　for　four　days　was　enough　to　confirm

that　everyone　with　a　gleam　of　cleverness　in　his　eye　and　the　shadow　of　his　soul

cast　across　his　face　was　a　hidden　assassin。　Only　imbeciles　are　innocent。

Tonight； for example； while warming up with a steaming coffee at the

coffeehouse　located　in　the　back　streets　of　the　slave　market；　gazing　at　the　sketch

of a dog hanging on the back wall； I was gradually forgetting my plight and

laughing　with　the　rest　of　them　at　everything　the　dog　recounted。　Then；　I　had

the sensation that one of the men beside me was a mon murderer like

myself。　Though　he　was　simply　laughing　at　the　storyteller　as　I　was；　my　intuition

was sparked； either by the way his arm rested near mine or by the way he

restlessly rapped his fingers on his cup。 I’m not sure how I knew； but I

suddenly turned and looked him directly in the eye。 He gave a start and his

face　contorted。　As　the　crowd　dispersed；