They come to a twilit street beneath the rust-plated pillars of an elevated subway line. The buildings rise like soot-blackened sepulchers into the pall of night. The pavement is scattered with litter and anonymous bits of metal. The few people in sight lurk in dark doorways and on the fringes of the twisted wreckage and piles of debris clogging the ends of alleyways. The Infinitis slow to a halt before a gleaming red marquee of a bar advertising "Sliffs! Sips! Simsense!"