You enter the Faded Lion and immediately smell the heavy odor of old wood and mold. In the dim light, an older man in a rumpled suit sits at the front desk, his eyes fixed on a newspaper. He casts a fleeting glance at you, "Name? Do you need a number? Or maybe you're just here to stare?". His voice is hoarse and his tone betrays fatigue and indifference. There is a feeling in the air that he has seen too much here and is no longer surprised by anything.