There were no names on the crevices; each tenant obviously knew which hole was his or hers. The inner door was sprung, barely hanging from one hinge. The lobby was floored with faded Spanish tiles from long before the Awakening. There was a battered baby carriage against one wall, a bullet-marked elevator before them, dark stairs on either side. A cracked dish of metacrab poison lay untouched near the sweat-stained newel. The elevator was busted, of course, so they proceeded up the stairs. The building smelled of cabbage, urine, and garlic.