This time, we’ve decided to start our trek so that it coincides with the school and factory commute. Since it’s all seven of us now, Rosie thought that blending in with the crowd, at least for part of the walk, would be safer. A bunch of thirteen-year-olds wandering the street on a school day would surely attract the attention of the cops. Or the Alliance. As we walk, jostled by the stone-faced masses in their gritty work clothes, I try to imagine what this part of the city must have been like, back when there were handsome skyscrapers lining these streets. Then, I imagine, the buildings were filled with offices and businesses run by men and women earning their livings in a peaceful world. Now the workforce is made up mostly of factory employees, who dress in heavy jumpsuits supplied by the munitions manufacturers they work for. The office buildings and high-rise condominiums that once stood here have been either demolished or so severely neglected that they’re falling down on their own.
