buildings atop buildings. chimneys and balconies and bridges jut from the towers of crumbling concrete and brick and metal. i dont linger. only an idiot would. this is the undercity, and even a moments slip could be costly. people mill about with their heads down, hoods drawn. ahead, i can hear and smell and see Glory, a street lined with bars, fighting rings, pleasure houses. acrid smoke curls in the thick summer night air.