You awake to the commonplace sounds of the M District's morning commute. Sitting up to yawn and stretch, you glance around the room as the groggy film over your mind begins to wane. Sunlight streams in through your lone unshaded window, spilling over your bedroom in a bright arc. According to your alarm clock (which, for the first time in a while, didn't give you the urge to smash it) it was about time you woke up. The quality of your sleep was unusually good, so you weren't reluctant to get out of bed this time.
After all, it was a Friday.
That meant you might be able to find some good scraps today. From your neighborhood (if it could be called such) there was usually a good turnout of discarded food debris and remains, every edible piece of which was scavenged and stored by the residents of the M District. M stood for male, and it was a region of the city which housed the dowtrodden of the species and kept them free of conflagration (at least most of the time) with women.
Being at quite a diminutive disadvantage by their gender, males clung to what little land they had and survived, and had done so for generations. Much of the city was built to house the larger of the species, and it was the obligation of the M District to navigate through a tunnel network below the city's streets in order to avoid contact and, likely by extension, a fatal end. It wasn't a rose garden, but it was a life. Besides, it had always been this way for you.
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