There are parts of the city, far below the teeming brothels and arms markets…
… where the sound of the falling ‘rain’ is as constant as the sound of surf on a terrestrial shore…
… where all the bars are empty, because the people are gone. Sometimes, in these decaying tombs of debauched squalor, beings appear…
… and act out long-forgotten scenes of loss, loneliness, and despair…
… where nothing is as it seems, nothing lasts…
… and no one gets out unchanged.
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