At the mouth of the alley.
A plainly dressed young man had set up a small stool and was sitting on it peacefully.
A simple wooden cane leaned in the corner of the wall. Hanging from the cane was a Bird Cage, and inside lay a sickly crow. The crow's feathers were a dark red, as if they had been soaked in blood and then left to dry.
The sickly crow would occasionally open its eyes and lifelessly observe the surrounding crowd, not making a single sound.
The young man's face was covered in ugly, scorched scars that looked like flattened tumors. His eyes were milky white; he was clearly blind.
The people gathered around the young man were mostly youths and middle-aged adults.
The young asked about their futures, the middle-aged about their fortunes.
