The black smoke spewing from the chimneys finally filled the glowing dusk, and Thunder City, which had been busy all day, finally welcomed its night.
In the suburb's new industrial zone, the last batch of artisans and laborers whistled, arms around each other's shoulders, and left the factory, flooding into the taverns along the street.
The maids in linen skirts darted quickly through the bustling crowds. Their arms were as thick as iron clamps, eager to grab all the kitchen's wine glasses with both hands. And those customers urging for wine seemed to have smoke rising from their throats, just waiting for that sip to quench the fire.
The air was filled with the smell of sweat and coal ash, prompting all the fastidious priests to unconsciously steer clear of this blasphemous place.
But complaints were rare; more people loved this excitement and the atmosphere of fireworks.
