There were fourteen tin houses strewn along a long, narrow, unnamed and forgotten back lot between a collapsed warehouse and a cinderblock wall separating it from the railyard beyond.
The lot had begun a ditch, and continued to be called as such. During the War, the Ditch had acted as disposal for unidentified bodies and unidentified body parts. From miles away, a sinister orange halo would arise into the sky from the lot, and men and women would look at it and try to ignore the strangely familiar soot that sprinkled down onto the streets and rooftops as shells rang in the distance.
The smell of burning hair and flesh was embedded deeply into the soil, and when it rained, it would sometimes flow into the streets, causing the old, who remembered the war, to shudder and quicken their pace in fear.