The pristine, manicured landscapes of Garrison Heights—with its towering marble arches, perfect glass high-rises, and security barriers—gradually gave way to the older, industrial sectors of the lower border.
As we crossed the iron suspension bridge spanning the river, the atmosphere shifted entirely. The smooth, sound-dampened asphalt turned into cracked, bumpy concrete. The towering glass structures were replaced by low-slung brick buildings, neon signs flickering in the fading twilight, and the bustling, raw energy of the valley. Local transit buses rumbled past, spewing exhaust, and the streets were filled with working-class people heading home from their shifts.
"It's... so loud," Benny murmured, watching a group of local kids laughing near a street vendor. "But in a weird way, it f
