Now I was on my way to meet Mr. Johnson. The address was not a bar this time, but a ridiculously expensive apartment building in one of the few remaining "nice" areas of the 'plex. One could even pick out the line of dirt that separated the clean streets of the wealthy district from the filthy ones of my own. I walked along briskly, turning up the collar of my morning coat against the biting wind. I entertained myself by looking for rats. Apparently, even rich people can’t keep the little rodents off their streets, but I must admit they looked much cleaner and healthier than the ones in my district. Most probably the results of a better diet. I laughed aloud.