The neighborhood is decrepit. Rancid garbage clogs the alleys. Burnt-out 
autos, building debris, and piles of junk and rotting litter line the street. 
The buildings themselves are three- and four-story husks, their windows smashed, 
facades seared by fire. There is no question she’s on the right block in the
right part of town, but she still can’t believe what she is seeing. The
four-story tenement at the middle of the block is a wreck, like every other 
building. That’s exactly where Adama’s town house ought to be. In front of it an
ancient Lincoln American limousine sits at curbside. Battered and rusted, it 
isn’t quite ready for the scrap heap, but it’s close. That is where Adama’s
sleek black Nightsky ought to be, the exact spot.