"To hell with that."
As she mopped the floor, the Front Desk rolled her eyes. "Every two or three days, a new couple pops up around here, pushing their kids around in shopping carts. Who knows what they're called, Miss-whatever. Maybe they were completely made up by that Old Master Vico himself.
"The old masters in the city center write a couple of articles to move themselves, publicize the chaos on the city's outskirts through the news, then hypocritically hold charity balls in fancy hotels overflowing with booze and meat.
"Those old masters and ladies dressed in silk and fur stuff themselves at the ball, revel all night long, squeeze out a few tears in the end, and pocket the money raised online. Perfectly normal, isn't it?"
The Front Desk spat. "Those old masters' charity balls do everything except save people. Oh—"
She paused slightly. "Well, they don't completely fail to save people. The steaks, shrimp, and crabs they can't finish get fished out of the slop buckets, packaged into packaged meat, and sold to poor people like us, so those about to starve don't starve completely. How is that not saving people?"
"Steaks, shrimp, and crabs fished out of slop buckets are still steaks, shrimp, and crabs. Even if the packaged meat made from them smells sour, it's still premium goods. Can you afford it?"
The gray-haired Youth casually chimed in.
"Fuck you."
The woman at the Front Desk rolled her eyes. "That's why I said those old masters' articles are fine for reading and nothing more. The tears they squeeze out are like aqua regia—meant to melt gold and stuff it into their own pockets.
"What, do you really believe Vico wants to change this city?
"If he can just keep me from losing my job, I'll thank