There are no street signs. The building numbers are either hidden somewhere behind steel grilles or mesh gratings or buried beneath about forty gazillion layers of multicolored and mostly illegible graffiti. Brian’s supervisor told him what to look for, but the only thing he really recognizes, as he turns onto the street, is the small group of Sisters Sinister gangers on the corner to his right, and the group of Blood Monkeys on the corner to his left. He’s seen them before on Staten Island and in Brooklyn, though what they’re doing here, in the shadow of the Manhattan Bridge, maybe two blocks from the elevated FDR Drive, he couldn’t guess. And he wouldn’t try to even if he could. The gangers look ugly as usual and they’re carrying submachine guns and machine pistols in addition to their usual ordnance. Most of the surrounding streetlife seems intent on getting as far away as possible with no delay.