It is a gloomy, rainy day in March. A small, poorly dressed woman makes her way down a debris cluttered street in the poor section of town. Clutched to her breast is a newspaper package, which she holds as though it contains all that she holds sacred in this world. Suddenly she stops, realising that she has passed the entrance she seeks. She turns back and retraces her steps, until she sees the garish red on black sign, in a first floor window. She eagerly mounts the few stone steps to the front entrance, and rings the bell.