If anything, Tarislar by day looks even worse than Tarislar by night. You can’t see the bonfires and jury-rigged braziers burning in the vacant lots among the wreckage of collapsed buildings, but you can see the shanty-town huts and makeshift shelters on what used to be manicured lawns. There’s a sense of despair that hangs in the air like a bad smell. Not the smoldering, volatile anger you’d feel in an ork-dominated slum, but a kind of dull acceptance and fatalism. It makes me sad.