The city at five in the morning was still quiet, the early winter sun rose late, and the neon lights were still on, with very few vehicles coming and going. Street vendors were pushing their carts, rushing out early to sell breakfast while roadside sanitation workers swept up fallen leaves. It was an older gentleman whose back could no longer straighten, hunched over in his toil.
At the entrance of the Star Delight Mansion residential area, there were plenty of green plants and flowers planted, but with the recent drop in temperature, the few scattered petals were wilted. The big-leaf boxwood hedges were about waist-high, with frost condensing on the leaves, gleaming white against the green.
Wyatt Wright came out of the residential area, an umbrella in hand, and a camera slung over his shoulder.
The older street sweeper recognized him and stopped to say hello, "Good morning."
He also stopped, "Morning."
