NOVEMBER 17, 1934
THE ALTSTADT IS THE fancy part of town. Closest thing to a gated community we get in Ganesh. Even if I hadn’t forsworn the trolley, I couldn’t’ve gotten there. The trolley didn’t make stops there. If you couldn’t afford a taxi or—God forbid—your own jalopy, you certainly weren’t allowed in the Altstadt.
Despite his protestations, I didn’t bring the head. It wasn’t going to be like hanging out on the streets of the Mat where nobody gave a damn if you had a parrot on your shoulder, or hell, a talking decapitated head. That was where the Rockefellers and the Roosevelts rubbed elbows with the Carnegies and the Capones.
It was one long, endless walk from the Mat to the Altstadt. Unsurprisingly, it started to rain about halfway through so I could get nice and wet, then it st
