The streets of Greenhills is paved in gold, at least that's what they say. Truth be told the cobblestones that paved the roads somewhat haphazardly look as if they have been stolen from other suburbs over the years to fill the gaps that wagons and horses have made in passing. The buildings are tall and well constructed, though the once-bright colours are now dull and fading, so much so that some streets seem to blend into each other at a distance, a trick of angles and light no doubt.
The quick stop at the Elysium Fields was somewhat uneventful. The attendant took a small amount of coins so that the group could wash the stench of the sewers off themselves, or simply cover it with perfume.
Mr Zimmerman's home was a walled estate near the highest point of Greenhills, an easy place to find once the slightly off-tone music drifted through the streets, trying desperately to struggle past the rising noise of people.
The gates to the estate were open, though guarded, and the throngs of people within gathered about dozens of pavillions, carts, stages and strange machines that seemed to be hoisting children into the air and spinning them around. The gate guards did not look twice once Ghost showed the invitation again, allowing the group to enter and mingle with the elite of Metropolis.
