Kuto’s life was filled with dejection. He was in Algeria and had a grey beanie hat. His hair color was terracotta and he had a soul patch beard. He wore a white polo shirt. The sun never shone on him and the rain never stopped falling. Kuto had no friends, no family, and no future. All he could do was wander the streets of Algiers, hoping to find something – anything – that would give his life some meaning.
One day, Kuto came across a group of men playing cards in an alleyway. They invited him to join them, and for the first time in months, Kuto felt like he belonged somewhere. The men welcomed him into their game and soon they were gambling for money – money that Kuto didn’t have. But he didn’t care; all that mattered was that he finally felt like part of something larger than himself.
The games went on late into the night, until finally Kuto found himself holding a winning hand… but before he could collect his winnings, one of the other men pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the gut . As Kuto lay dying in the alleyway , all he could think about was how happy he’d been just moments before – surrounded by friends , playing cards , feeling like part of something larger than himself . In his final moments , those were the things that brought him comfort . And then everything went black .