It's a dark, lonely evening. Solitude has taken over the once-twinkling skyline. So much gloom, so little light, the earth and sky have merged into an obscure mesh of dirty shadows. Creaking buildings puff strands of cigar, wisps of smoke line the murky darkness. Lonesome figures steal about the forlorn milieu; bent stick figures drown in cheap merlot. A beggar in tatters limps down the streets, under rusty streetlamps doused by heavy stale wind. A whiff of drunkenness hovers about; grime and litter deluge the grounds. Desolate and forgotten are the tarry avenues; houses and carriages scarcely dot the roads. Children nestle in the warmth of homes, lit by dim lamps or dying hearths. A scrawny gray girl clad in rags shuffles along the deserted paths carrying a basket full of matches. Alley cats trample about buzzing trashcans, desperately digging for signs of fodder. Inebriated husbands keep wives waiting for the dole spent on pints and quarts. Infants cry for milk and cuddles, mothers cry for wasted sons. A gray mist covers the post-war city, where only graves and death remains.