Under a Broken Sky

It's almost noon, and Bayarsakhan looks as if he has just woken up. His jaw hangs slack, and his face is marred by fresh gouges—the result, he says, of tripping onto barbed wire the previous night. It's -25°C, yet Bayarsakhan is wearing only a turtleneck sweater and wool pants, oblivious to the cold. He has nowhere to go, no job to occupy the bitter day ahead. So he stands here idly, amid a dense cluster of shacks, while haggard cows pick through garbage piles. After all his wanderings, the 30-year-old nomad has ended up here in the ramshackle neighborhood of Chingeltei...

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