Gunfire Tavern.
Inside the "Commercial Street" near the simple city wall, more than thirty blue corrugated-metal boxes had been assembled into shops. In a tavern whose entrance was a truck trailer, blasting music and curses echoed throughout the entire district.
Unlike the lifeless Inner City, the Commercial Street with its tavern was extremely lively.
"Jingle-jingle."
When the door decorated with Mutant leg bones was pushed open, the bullet Bells hanging on both sides swung back and forth with a clatter.
After passing several tavern tables where people were playing Texas hold'em, he saw a large group of drunken brawny men engaged in wrench-wrestling.
The hot reek of alcohol filled the bar, while the filthy, patched-together glass windows all around were covered in fog.
Inside the corrugated-metal tavern, the floor was covered with dirty logs. Every now and then, someone would accidentally step on a rusty nail sticking out of one.
The rough wooden floor had long since lost its original color. After being soaked for years in what might have been liquor or vomit, it had long since turned brown.
"Bang!"
"Another cup! Hic!"
Shouldering a giant axe, a burly man with a beard braided into crossed plaits shoved through the crowded people. His hand, adorned with iron rings, slammed heavily onto the bar made from a truck bed.
When his swaying, broad frame had just forced its way into the crowd, it immediately provoked the displeasure of those beside the bar.
But after several curses of "bitch's bastard" and "scum," the crowd habitually shifted aside a little.
The already cramped space became even more crowded with the burly man's arrival.
On one side of the bar, a drunk leaning against a long table was even squeezed onto the floor by his butt. With a bang, he sprawled there limply.