The air seemed especially chilly tonight, and Briar began to regret leaving her coat behind.<br/><br/>Sometimes the cycle gangs drove up and down the potholed streets, engines running on a homemade mix of low-grade petrol and alcohol.  They seldom bothered Briar...as if they sensed her poverty, realized she had nothing to offer.  But tonight, even they were absent, off rolling through some other part of the decaying cityscape.  About every third streetlight actually worked, more or less, and the chilly air drove the usual cloud of insects away from the lights.<br/><br/>At last, Briar reached her job.