AMOS & CIAN -- BUTCHER STREET: 3:10PM.
Amidst the destruction, Luscini's stood like a near-unblemished pillar, holding up what remained of Butcher Street's pride. But the eponymous butcher shop had always been that way, its proprietors scrambling to the top even if impossible odds stacked against them. It was why the shop continued to be, even after new ones sprung in better districts, with better technology. Perhaps there was something comforting in the familiar, in the same way that many always returned to loves that burned them.
Although, in this case, it was a butcher shop that cut people's pockets. Amos smiled absently at his fanciful analogue, staring up at the edifice. He'd come to the tenements to make arrangements for the coming outreaches, but, as ever, he gravitated toward the shop, a satellite in orbit. But, like a satellite, he never quite came close, never quite made his way through the door.
When a man joined him, he mused aloud, "It never changes, does it?" And then Amos turned. Eyebrows raised, eyes wide, he added, "Now isn't this a pleasure!"