It’s the start of a normal working day. People mill about on the streets and in cafes, procuring the tonics they need to begin their mornings in earnest and setting off on their commutes to make it to the office; in the space between these separate but related endeavors, they catch up on current events on television. The news, as it so often can be, sings a dour note to match the day’s cloudiness, but that’s okay, because bleakness and dreariness are the tragic standard for the crowds filtering through the city’s winding, compressed avenues on their way to their respective jobs. A thundering crash, the acrid scent of burning…