Tikki leans back against the gleaming, wet-look front of the vibrating 
nightclub and lights a Dannemann Lonja cigarro, long and slim. She smiles, only 
to herself. She’s in her element here, amid the throbbing pulse of the urban
jungle, where the noise assaults the ear and the street life flows eternal. To 
her, the passing crowds are a single, seething herd of animals oblivious to the 
gaze of the hunter and to the intimate nearness of death.