Compared to the bustle of Twisted Street, the avenue running north from its midpoint is rather quiet. Foot traffic mostly flows toward the black iron gates of the municipal park, to the east, while a hotchpotch of vehicles to and fro sporadically from south to north. A variety of trees, from well-pruned saplings to towering oaks, and even the occasional distinctly 'alien' growth, separate the road from the sidewalk.
To the west, the vast stone blocks of the arena loom imposingly, and a darkened doorway flashes with a broken luminous sign marked 'E-IT'. On infrequent occasion, this door opens to emit one (1) person. Well, you know what they say about one man leaving...