Paint The Town Red It Never Sleeps

“It was an age of miracles, it was an age of art, it was an age of excess, and it was an age of satire.”— F. Scott Fitzgerald
October 24th, 1929. New York City. Black Thursday.
For the “Roaring Twenties,” the end has begun.

The fabled age of champagne and sin has risen to heights never before imagined. Bootleg liquor flows and smoke gathers in the speakeasies and jazz clubs that breathe life into the night of this great city.

If there is a vice you want to indulge, someone in New York can help you find it. If you are looking for a party in the dead of night, somewhere in New York is still open for business.

But as the stock market comes crashing down the country begins its spiral into the Great Depression. The stench of this misery burns your nostrils as you stand atop the Chrysler Building—now the tallest in the world—where you can see every inch of this city: and it’s all on fire.

Lady Liberty stands vigil at the entrance of New York, but she no longer watches over a city on the rise. Now she looks upon a fresh corpse that doesn’t yet know it is fading into undeath.

You came to New York because you heard it was the city that never sleeps. And for a vampire, what could be better? After a decade of endless revelry, the city has nothing to lose. And there’s no party quite like a funeral.